Blood Brothers
by IsisLestrange
Summary: Voldemort thinks he has been very cunning in using Harry's blood for his resurrection, the blood containing Lily Potter's love. But dark magic always has consequences. Slash, OOCness etc. etc.
1. PrologueAscension

**DISCLAIMER: Anything you recognise belong to J.K. Rowling, not me. I do not own Harry Potter. **

**WARNING: Slash, OOCness, definitely limes and possibly lemons.**

**A/N: This is my first fanfic so please review and let me know what you think =)**

**PROLOGUE/ASCENSION **

Voldemort smiled to himself. He knew it was only a matter of minutes now. The Dark Lord would rise again. He would punish all those who had renounced him in his absence and kill those who had sought to interrupt his return. Had the wizarding world really believed him gone forever? Were they truly naïve enough to think that he had taken no precautions against his death? Perhaps they had not thought him powerful or clever enough to conquer death. He would show them.

A shrill scream pierced the night, the ritual must be nearly complete. Yes. He could feel it now, the slow changes to his pitiful, helpless form were quickening. He knew it would be worth waiting for. Wormtail would have had him use the blood of any enemy but he knew, even in his desperate, weakened state, that only the boy's blood would do. The blood carrying Lily Potter's protection, her love, would make him even more powerful than he had originally been and would remove her son's only advantage over him. Anyone who believed that an infant could be his undoing was a fool. The mudblood's sacrifice would not save her son this time.

A surge of white steam billowed from the cauldron and he could feel the last pieces of himself being put back together. He felt himself rise from the cauldron and through the last of the thick vapour hanging in the air, he locked eyes with his young rival. He smiled. The ritual was complete. Voldemort could feel the boy's fear reach it's peak and was not surprised when he screamed. However, the sound stirred something deep within him that he did not recognise.

Something had gone very wrong.

_**Please Review**_

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	2. Chapter 1  On The Brink

**DISCLAIMER: Anything you recognise belongs to J.K. Rowling, not me. I do not own Harry Potter. **

**WARNING: Slash, OOCness, definitely limes and possibly lemons, torture, abuse, self-harm.**

**A/N: This is my first fanfic so please review and let me know what you think =)**

**On The Brink**

The second the words had left his mouth, Harry knew he'd have to run. He turned on his heel and sprinted down the hall with Dudley hot on his heels. He was scrabbling up the stairs now, if he could just get to his room, to his wand… He yelped as he felt one of Dudley's large clammy hands grab his ankle, he thrashed his legs wildly trying to free himself from his cousin's grip, but to no avail. Dudley yanked him by the leg and he lost his grip on the top stair, enabling Dudley to drag him back down the stairs. The friction of Petunia's hideous floral carpet left angry burns on Harry's elbows. Dudley pushed him roughly against the wall and Harry winced as he felt the end of the banister dig into the small of his back. He knew that it was useless to resist, after all, Dudley was about three times his size. The fist he knew was coming collided sharply with his jaw with a loud crunching noise and another was fast approaching his left eye. With the life he'd had so far, Harry should have known better than to think that things couldn't get any worse. As he began to drift out of consciousness, he felt the familiar twinge of his scar and the accompanying presence in his head.

Voldemort had been intrigued by the sense of foreboding he had felt that was not his own. What, apart from him, would be scaring his young rival? Before the incident in the graveyard, the boy's fear would have caused him great delight but now, instead of anticipation, he felt only burning curiosity. He pushed into the boy's head trying to see what he was so afraid of, but there was nothing. Could he be dead? Unconscious? Perhaps he was simply sleeping, but then why the terror? If someone other than him had killed the boy…. He growled at the thought. No one would dare, Potter was his to finish. But it was no use, Voldemort could not calm himself, could not stop the questions going round and round in his head. He must see for himself… he had to know. He couldn't get into the house without setting off the detection charms but he could get close enough to find out if the boy was still alive. Of course, if he was dead it would solve so many of his problems, but he would not derive the same pleasure knowing that The Boy Who Lived had died at a hand other than his own.

Harry awoke to find Hedwig gently nibbling his hand. He groaned as consciousness mercilessly forced itself upon him and he became aware of just how much pain he was in. "M'ok," he mumbled to Hedwig, opening his eyes fully now. He was in his room. Dudley had obviously put him in there when he'd finished with him. He saw Hedwig's cage lying open on the floor, she had clearly been desperate to get to him. He would thank her later, when his voice came back properly. Harry sighed. 'Later.' 'Tomorrow.' For most people, the old Harry included, words associated with the future brought a feeling of hope with them, but it had been a long time since they had had that effect on him. He thought about the next minute, the next hour, tomorrow and all the days after that. What was to stop them being the same as today? He tried to fight back the tears forming in his eyes, knowing that crying would only worsen his physical pain, but hopelessness had set in now. "No tomorrow," Harry whispered hoarsely, "No tomorrow."

Voldemort was almost far away enough from the manor to apparate now. Hopefully it would only be a matter of minutes before he arrived at number 4 Privet Drive. He would know then… know whether anyone had been foolish enough to rob him of his chance to kill The Boy Who Lived. He was already concocting extravagant plans for how best to punish the culprit if he did indeed find Potter dead. This boy, the baby who had left him to feed off others, a mere parasite, for thirteen years… oh how he would make him pay. His fury was raging now, driving him on and on until he came to the apparition spot and was gone in a silent flurry of swirling black robes.

Privet Drive was deathly quiet at this time of night, it's respectable occupants undoubtedly snoring away, totally unaware that the most powerful dark wizard of all time was only yards away from them. Said dark wizard was searching almost frantically for any sign of a struggle but found none. He groaned as foreign emotions began clouding his mind again. Despite having had emotional invasions of this sort ever since he regained his body, Voldemort didn't think he would ever grow accustomed to them. He tried to focus on them nonetheless, hoping to gain some clue as to the boy's predicament. He realised with a jolt that if he was feeling Potter's emotions then he must still be alive. He scolded himself for realising so late, blaming his frenzied state. He was calming down now, flooding with relief. He tried to jump right in to Harry's mind but found he still could not reach him. He bit back a growl of frustration. If Potter was feeling then he must be alive… but then why couldn't Voldemort get into his mind? The snippets of human emotion left him in an instant and once more, he was left with no traces of the boy. The waiting and the not knowing was almost too much to bear, when he wanted something he got it. He had spent thirteen years of half-life waiting and he had not been brought back to do the same. Voldemort knew that the boy was only a few metres away from him. He could see a light on in one of the rooms which he assumed must be his, no one else would be awake at this hour, not in Privet Drive. He could just apparate straight into the boy's room, then he'd know, surely it was worth it for the certainty?…..but he couldn't. The Order and most likely even Dumbledore himself would be there in seconds if he crossed the boundary of the house… Voldemort froze. He could hear Potter now, loud and clear in his mind, just two words over and over: 'no tomorrow.' Anger and loathing coursed through him. 'Oh no, it's not going to end like this,' and before he could talk himself out of it, there was another flurry of robes and he was gone.

He knew the second he rematerialised that he didn't have long. Not even stopping to properly take in the scene, Voldemort grabbed Harry and disapparated.


	3. Chapter 2  Needs Must

**DISCLAIMER: Anything you recognise belongs to J.K. Rowling, not me. I do not own Harry Potter. **

**WARNING: Slash, OOCness, definitely limes and possibly lemons, torture, abuse, self-harm.**

**A/N: This is my first fanfic so please review and let me know what you think =)**

**Whoah, I wasn't expecting that many people to follow my story, no pressure then! Sorry if it turns out crap guys :P**

**Thanks to all those who have reviewed, a couple of you mentioned my paragraphing, or lack of. I apologise for not having properly read the instructions that ask you to double space them so I hope it is better in this chapter.**

The boy fell to the ground at his feet, unconscious. Voldemort took great pleasure in that, it was where he belonged after all. He almost wished there was someone else there to see it… but they would undoubtedly question why he didn't just kill the boy there and then. He paused awhile, staring down at the crumpled form on the forest floor. Why wasn't he killing him? He had waited so long to regain his powers and all for this, so that he would be able to take revenge on the boy who had thwarted his plans three times now, and here he was, completely at his mercy…and yet he lived… Just.

Voldemort pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind. He couldn't kill him while he was in this state, he did have a sense of pride after all. Where was the fun in battling someone who was already half-dead? He knew that without the chase, there would be no pleasure in the kill.

Unable to stomach the thought of holding the boy, he decided to levitate him along instead. He had no real plan of action beyond getting the two of them safely back to the manor, he hoped he would have a more level head in the morning. Perhaps then it would be easier to think about what he'd do once the boy regained consciousness.

Back at the manor, he carefully lowered Harry onto a bed in one of the many spare rooms. He kept his distance, just watching the boy, not moving from the doorway. However, he knew that any open wounds would need to be healed, he didn't go through the effort and shame of saving the boy, only to let him bleed to death in his own home. He moved forwards slowly, wondering why he felt so wary of the boy when, on closer inspection, it was clear that he was in no fit state to move or talk, let alone attack him.

He was even thinner now than when they had last met, his shirt hung off his fragile frame, dipping a little where his ribs ended. Was he ill? Voldemort knew of illnesses where people struggled to gain weight, but there were many draughts and potions for such problems. His pale skin was distorted by a large number of bruises and Voldemort noted with a frown that they were of varying ages. Whatever had attacked Harry tonight had obviously done so before. The black eye though, was fresh, only a few hours old at most and Voldemort wondered why Harry's attacker had not chosen to use magic. He held one of his hands just above another fresh bruise on the boy's jaw and sensed a broken bone. He could mend bones in an instant but to use any kind of magic on him when he was so weak… the results could be disastrous. He frowned again when he noticed dried blood on his own hand, he had not touched the boy since…

Since he had apparated.

He grabbed the boy's arm and roughly turned it over. Cuts, some shallow and some deeper, criss-crossed the pale skin on the underside of Harry's arm. Voldemort stared. He had known the boy's intention when he broke into his mind but the sight shocked him nonetheless. Being as Slytherin as they came, Voldemort had a very strong sense of self-preservation and could not comprehend what would drive a person to harm themselves in such a way. Whoever, or whatever, was attacking Harry was obviously putting him through a great deal of turmoil, but why didn't he fight back? Was his opponent too strong for him? If so, why hadn't Dumbledore done anything to protect the boy? Voldemort wondered how something so powerful and so intent on hurting Harry could exist without his having heard of it. He was going to have to accept it, he was in the unique position where Harry had all the answers and he, Voldemort, knew nothing.

Sighing, Voldemort summoned some supplies from his stores, he was going to have to do this the muggle way, it would be too big a risk to use magic on a body so damaged. He scowled at the simplicity of the cotton and bandages before him. Muggles…

He dabbed some antiseptic on Harry's cuts and bandaged the deeper ones. He made no particular effort to be gentle, this was his enemy after all and besides, the boy wasn't awake to notice.

Having tended the worst of Harry's wounds to the best of his ability, he got up from the bed and left the room, pausing only to, as an afterthought, put the blankets over the boy with a flick of his wand.


	4. Chapter 3  Coming To

**DISCLAIMER: Anything you recognise belongs to J.K. Rowling, not me. I do not own Harry Potter. **

**WARNING: Slash, OOCness, definitely limes and possibly lemons, torture, abuse, self-harm.**

**A/N: This is my first fanfic so please review and let me know what you think =)**

**Whoah, I wasn't expecting that many people to follow my story, no pressure then! Sorry if it turns out crap guys :P**

**Thanks to all those who have reviewed so far, more please ****J**** Con-crit more than welcome.**

**Not a particularly juicy chapter but hey, Harry doesn't just heal straight away, if Voldie has to wait then so do you. This is to keep you going while I faff about with the next one, I think their first conversation is worth taking time over.**

Harry drifted in and out of consciousness with no clue where he was or how he got there. Thankfully, he was also only dimly aware of his pain.

When he awoke properly for the first time, he found that he had no idea how much time had passed since the last time he had woken. Things came back to him slowly. The first thing he became aware of was his agony and he willed himself to fall unconscious once more, the pain was too great. When he did not, he realised he could hear sounds, the crackling of a fire, the turning of a page and then all of a sudden, footsteps. He lay very still, playing dead, worried that the loud pounding of his heart would betray him. He felt the bed dip as the person sat beside him.

"Harry?"

He knew that voice. But it couldn't be… Very slowly, afraid of what he might find, he opened his eyes.

Voldemort's scarlet eyes locked with the green once more, he saw disbelief and fear flicker beneath them but all the boy could do was give a small yelp of panic. He was not strong enough to run or fight, too weak to scream or even to talk. Whether he fainted from shock or just slipped back into his sleepy haze, Voldemort could not tell, but it was many more hours before he woke again.

When he next woke, Harry was relieved to find himself alone. Thinking it best to try to find out as much as possible about his current situation, he braved an attempt at turning his head and was pleased to find that he could. He did not however, have the same success when he tried to sit up and to his dismay he could not help but let out a small cry of pain that was sure to be heard by his captor. His captor… He had dreamed of those red eyes hadn't he? But was it a dream? Surely it must have been… if it had been real then there was no way he'd still be alive and if he was sure of anything it was that he was still alive, death couldn't possibly be this painful.

Harry gave a start when he heard footsteps approaching the door, should he pretend to be asleep? But whoever was on the other side of that door had obviously heard his cry and besides, the need for answers was too strong to put the moment off any longer. He summoned up his last ounce of courage and turned to face the opening door, only to have his worst fears confirmed.

**A/N I know it's short but it's still worth reviewing! You might inspire me to put the next chapter up faster ****J**


	5. Chapter 4  Mine

**DISCLAIMER: Anything you recognise belongs to J.K. Rowling, not me. I do not own Harry Potter. **

**WARNING: Slash, OOCness, definitely limes and possibly lemons, torture, abuse, self-harm.**

**A/N: This is my first fanfic so please review and let me know what you think =)**

**Whoah, I wasn't expecting that many people to follow my story, no pressure then! Sorry if it turns out crap guys :P**

**Thanks to all those who have reviewed so far, more please ****J**

**Right, I have a confession. This might annoy some of you, others wouldn't have noticed before I pointed it out but so far, I have been swapping POVs with each paragraph but now I am writing in the third person. Please don't leave negative reviews about it, I know it's not ideal and I'm sorry. **

"Normal Speech"

'Thoughts'

"_Parseltongue"_

"_Emphasis"_

On entering the room, the first thing that struck Voldemort was the amount of questions whirring around in the boy's head. He smiled, revelling in the sight of his enemy so powerless. "Poor boy, so lost and confused…"

Harry could do nothing but glower at him from the bed. Summoning a chair out of nowhere, Voldemort went to sit beside him. Harry tried to squirm away from him but Voldemort put a firm hand on his shoulder.

"_Don't be a fool,"_ He hissed in Parseltongue and then more calmly, "If I was going to kill you, you'd already be dead." They both knew Harry was not afraid of death at this stage, but neither said so. With one hand still pinning Harry in place, Voldemort took several glass phials from inside his robes and laid them out on his lap. "I couldn't heal you when you first got here, you were too weak. But now that you're awake…"

Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. Why would Voldemort want to heal him? Was this some kind of sick joke? But he was in no position to argue. Either Voldemort killed him, which he had no particular objection to, or he healed him, which would not be unwelcome by any means.

Voldemort pointed his wand at Harry's jaw. "Episkey."

Harry groaned as he felt and heard his bones click back into place. Voldemort didn't apologise. Instead he drew his wand over Harry's wrists, closing the cuts before sifting through the various bottles on his lap. Finding the one he was after, he uncorked it and grasped Harry's newly-healed (but still painful) jaw. Harry gasped at the pain, giving Voldemort the perfect opportunity to pour the entire contents of the bottle into his mouth.. Before he knew what had happened, Voldemort had clamped his jaw shut again and had a firm hand over Harry's mouth, forcing him to swallow. When he tried to resist, Voldemort growled in frustration.

"_Trust me."_

Harry made a face to show how ridiculous that notion was, but he gave in regardless.

Within minutes, he could feel the various potions beginning to take effect. The pain was gradually subsiding and he was beginning to feel a little more awake. His bruises too, looked a little fainter now.

"How do you feel?" asked Voldemort with a mocking smile.

"Like I was killed and rudely resurrected," muttered Harry.

"I would say that's a fairly accurate analysis of your situation,' Voldemort said sternly, 'but thankfully, I am the only one of us who knows the pain of being truly resurrected." He smiled a little but Harry continued to glare at him.

Voldemort tutted, "So grumpy Harry, I'd give you some chocolate for that if I thought you'd be able to digest it." With that, he left the chair beside Harry's bed in favour of one by the fire, pretending to read his book awhile, leaving Harry to examine his surroundings.

The room was only a little bigger than his one at Privet Drive, though (as much as Harry didn't like to admit it) far more tastefully decorated. Unsurprisingly, the predominant colour was green but with the orangey glow from the fire it was almost cosy. The bed Harry was lying on was a double four-poster with a green velvet throw and matching curtains. Opposite this was the fireplace, small and simple with two chairs and a small coffee table on the rug in front of it. Once the pain had eased off enough, Harry rolled over onto his other side to see a large bay window and more green velvet in the form of a large windowseat. From what he could see, it was either dawn or dusk, but it did not much matter to him. He continued to assess the room awhile longer, testing his strength every few minutes until he could sit up.

Voldemort watched him out of the corner of his eye, pleased to see his strength returning. "I told you you could trust me."

More glaring.

"And yet I sense that you do not… have I done something wrong Harry?" he asked sardonically.

When Harry replied, his voice was quiet and rasping, "You should have just let me…"

"Kill yourself?" Voldemort chuckled softly, glad to be getting a reaction. "As entertaining as that would undoubtedly be Harry, I would rather do it myself."

"So why haven't you?"

Voldemort's pitiless red eyes narrowed and he leered at Harry. "Oh, I intend to, but I prefer it when my victims are strong enough to fight back."

"So that's your plan?" Harry replied bitterly, his voice slowly coming back, "you're going to keep me here until…"

"Until there is some life in you worth ending."

Shaking with fury now, Harry threw back the covers, ignoring the last remnants of pain, and made to attack Voldemort, wandless though he was, only to meet immediately with an invisible barrier that sent him crashing back down onto the bed. He heard Voldemort's cruel laughter over his own moans of pain as he became reacquainted with many of his hurts.

"Now now Harry, I can't have you running off and slitting your wrists now can I?"

Who Harry hated more at that moment, he couldn't say, but he knew he'd rather be anywhere else in the world. Voldemort, the one person he would have thought he could always rely on to try to kill him, was refusing to let him die. Instead, he was being forced to exist in this pitiful, powerless state, a prisoner in his enemy's home and a victim of his constant mockery. He felt so weak, so vulnerable.

"Are you going to tell me why?"

Harry felt a slight chill come over him as Voldemort's tone changed from taunting to dangerous. Harry stared at him in disbelief. "Does it matter?"

Voldemort considered his question. "That really depends on your answer."

Harry stayed silent. He would not pour out his soul to his worst enemy, he would not give Voldemort the satisfaction. When the silence got too much, Harry relented with a half-answer, "Better me than you."

Voldemort processed this information with a slight smile. "True. Very true. But tell me, Harry, who else is after you?" Harry didn't know what to make of this question. Everyone who wanted him dead hunted him for Voldemort.

Seeing Harry's confused expression, Voldemort elaborated. "Your wounds are not all self-inflicted…"

'Oh,' thought Harry, lowering his head in shame. He was talking about them… "Why do you care?" he replied aggressively.

Voldemort smirked. "Well I would like very much to shake their hand." Harry glared at him. "and them promptly kill them for touching what isn't theirs."

"I'm not _yours_ either!"

Voldemort chuckled. "Forgive me. I thought that perhaps, seeing as I have you trapped in my home with no means of escape, that you were mine."

"If you think I'm going to just… I'm obviously not going to… I won't make this easy for you!"

"Yes I'm beginning to realise that," Voldemort replied dryly, "but you must realise that I will not allow you to die while you are staying here. You'd do well to dig up some of that Gryffindor courage and regain a survival instinct if you know what's good for you."

Harry could think of no reply. Voldemort was right. He was trapped, he had no choice but to cooperate. But that didn't have to mean making it easy for Voldemort. He rolled over and shut his eyes, hoping that Voldemort would get the hint (and act on it).

Voldemort rolled his eyes. 'Teenagers…'

"I'm going to eat. When I get back, I want answers," he said simply, before leaving Harry to brood in silence.

**A/N Yes, the line 'so weak, so vulnerable' is straight out of the film but I like it too much to not include it.**

**Please review! ****J**


	6. Chapter 5 Likeness

**DISCLAIMER: Anything you recognise belongs to J.K. Rowling, not me. I do not own Harry Potter. *sob**

**WARNING: Slash, OOCness, definitely limes and possibly lemons, torture, abuse, self-harm.**

**A/N: This is my first fanfic so please review and let me know what you think =)**

**Whoah, I wasn't expecting that many people to follow my story, no pressure then! Sorry if it turns out crap guys :P**

**Thanks to all those who have reviewed so far, more please ****J**** Con-crit more than welcome.**

As soon as the door was closed, Voldemort lent against it, releasing a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. Now that he was out of the room, his head was no longer full of Harry's noisy emotions. They were strong, but he was stronger. He could keep them at bay easily enough, forcing them to occupy a space at the very back of his mind, but they still irritated him.

Sighing, he strode down the hall towards the library. He had lied to Harry about the food, food wasn't important right now. No, what he needed was an explanation, an explanation for the foreign thoughts and feelings that were able to invade his mind. He had, of course, researched the topic a great deal over the summer but to no avail. With Harry staying in his house, needing his care, he was going to have to find some way to shut him out.

Despite looking rather peaceful, curled up in a mess of soft blankets, Harry was still fuming. Why was life always like this to him? Hadn't he already been through enough? Didn't he deserve out, if he wanted it? He bit his lip as his fury threatened to turn into tearfulness.

In his despair, he found himself wishing, for the first time ever, that magic didn't exist. Without it, he might be able to escape, climb through a window maybe or even overpower Voldemort. If magic didn't exist then Voldemort wouldn't exist either and Harry wondered if _he_ would. Maybe without Hogwarts, his parents would never have met… or perhaps they would have found each other regardless and Harry would have had a perfectly normal life.

Harry was exhausted. He was fighting a losing battle against his tears and was not looking forward to Voldemort's return. He didn't want to relive that night and he certainly didn't want to break down in front of Voldemort. He wished more than anything that he was back with Ron and Hermione or perhaps Sirius, that he was with someone who would comfort him and keep him safe. He wanted to be able to lie in someone's arms and let everything out, all his rage and his shame and his grief…

But he wasn't. He doubted he would ever see his friends again. The only person in his life now, was Voldemort.

Nearly an hour had passed since Voldemort had left Harry and he knew that for his food excuse to be plausible, he was going to have to go back. The table in front of him was littered with pages and pages of research, discarded books and broken quills, the remnants of another fruitless search.

A person could hear the thoughts of another in several different ways through legilimency, possession or with certain curses, but they were all temporary and relied on the conscious effort of the attacker, but it was the thoughts that were attacking him! He would never ask for this. Knowing Harry's thoughts was useful, not to mention amusing, but to share them… to feel whatever Harry felt as if the emotions were his own… that would not do.

He returned to find Harry exactly as he left him, tangled in the bedclothes with his back to the door, to him, hoping that Voldemort would take the hint and leave him alone.

"Well now, that's no way to treat your host is it?"

"This is no way to treat your guests." Harry replied hotly.

"Guest? Harry, you are only a guest if you want to be here. Until then, you're my prisoner."

"Why would I ever want to be here?"

"You dislike Lord Voldemort's home Harry?" He smirked, "Or perhaps you find the company lacking?"

Harry was fed up with the bickering and decided instead to keep the conversation away from the Dursleys for as long as possible. He sat up.

"And where exactly is Voldemort's home?"

"That's _Lord_ Voldemort please Harry," he said smiling. When he received no angry remark from the bed, he took up his seat beside the fire and continued.

"Surely you don't think I'm going to tell you where I live?"

"Well I'm not leaving so it really doesn't matter."

"Resigned to your fate already Harry? What's happened to your unfailing resistance little Gryffindor?"

"Stop calling me that!"

"…"

Harry sat up to face Voldemort, but said nothing.

"Stop calling you a Gryffindor? And here I thought you took pride in your foolish recklessness?"

Harry mumbled something inaudible.

"Mind trying that one again little Gryffindor?"

"I said 'I'm not a Gryffindor.'" Seeing Voldemort's blank expression, Harry decided to elaborate.

"The sorting hat… it wanted to put me in Slytherin."

Voldemort's scarlet eyes widened in shock. The boy wasn't lying, he was meant to be in Slytherin, in _his _house!

"So why didn't it?" He didn't bother to hide his surprise, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"I… I asked it not to."

Voldemort almost laughed.

"Poor confused little Harry, denying his true nature at just eleven years old…" Suddenly his face lit up with glee.

"Does Dumbledore know this?"

Harry nodded.

Voldemort didn't bother to suppress his laughter this time.

"The Boy Who Lived… secretly a Slytherin…"

The look on Voldemort's face made Harry want to back away but his words made him want to argue.

"So what?" He shot back defensively, "It doesn't make me like you."

"Not necessarily, but it explains so much… There I was, thinking that your attacker had beaten the Gryffindor spirit out of you and it turns out you never really had it in you at all."

"Still doesn't mean anything," Harry mumbled, not liking the look on Voldemort's face.

"Doesn't it?" Voldemort watched Harry's face contort with hatred, "Surely you must have noticed how alike we are Harry? How…

"You're wrong!" Harry shouted, hurting his throat in the process. The potion for pain-relief seemed to be wearing off.

Voldemort was shocked, he was not used to being interrupted. He could tell he'd struck a nerve.

Harry could see that he had startled Voldemort with his outburst. But then, seeing his shocked expression twist into a smirk, Harry could tell that Voldemort knew what effect his words had had on him. He lay down again, angry at himself for his display of emotion. With Voldemort not saying anything, he couldn't stop the insecurities tugging at his mind. Of course he'd noticed the similarities, he'd mentioned it to Dumbledore at the end of his second year. The old man had assured him he was a true Gryffindor but he had not forgotten his encounter with Tom Riddle in the Chamber of Secrets, 'There are strange likenesses between us Harry Potter, both half-bloods, orphans, raised by muggles, probably the only two Parselmouths to come to Hogwarts since the great Slytherin himself…'

Harry didn't want to think about it any longer.

"You're wrong," he said again, calmly this time, "I'm nothing like you, I loathe you."

The venom in those three words startled both of them but Voldemort was soon grinning wickedly once more. This latest piece of information was most interesting… but he would have time to dwell on it later.

"Are you still feeling alright?"

Harry gave him an exasperated look.

"By which I mean, are you in any pain?"

Harry paused before answering. He was, but he didn't want Voldemort to know it. Then again, Voldemort would know if he was lying…

"Yes," he admitted resentfully.

Voldemort did not mock him. He nodded and took up a bottle of potion from the bedside table.

"I can do it myself!"

He snatched the bottle from Voldemort, frowning when he accidentally brushed their fingers together.

"You're cold."

Voldemort drew his hand away sharply.

"You just noticed?"

"That was different, you've been sitting by the fire!"

Voldemort smiled an amused one-sided smile.

"The Dark Lord does not pay much attention to his circulation."

"Maybe he should," Harry replied but he didn't really know what he meant by that.

Voldemort raised a non-existent eyebrow.

"I hope that wasn't meant to sound threatening Harry."

Harry didn't reply, downing the potion in one go.

"Perhaps you'd better take this one too."

"What is it?" Harry asked, suspicious.

"A potion for dreamless sleep."

"I know it well," said Harry dully, reaching out to take it. But Voldemort drew it out of his reach, raising a single eyebrow expectantly.

"You don't honestly expect me to beg for it ?"

"I expect you to say please."

Harry rolled his eyes and, too tired to be proud, relented.

"There's the self-preservation I was talking about. Say, isn't that a Slytherin quality?" He couldn't help but smile at the look on Harry's face. He gave him the potion, careful not to make contact this time.

"Sleep well little Slytherin."

Harry downed the potion, shot one last glare at Voldemort and fell into a blissful, dream-free sleep.


	7. Chapter 6  Pitiful

**DISCLAIMER: Anything you recognise belongs to J.K. Rowling, not me. I do not own Harry Potter. *sob**

**WARNING: Slash, OOCness, definitely limes and possibly lemons, torture, abuse, self-harm.**

**A/N: This is my first fanfic so please review and let me know what you think =)**

**Whoah, I wasn't expecting that many people to follow my story, no pressure then! Sorry if it turns out crap guys :P**

**Thanks to all those who have reviewed so far, more please! Con-crit more than welcome.**

Many days passed with no excitement. Their previous conversation had left Harry completely drained and he could do little besides sleep. Voldemort would check in on him every hour or so to make sure he took all of his potions. Harry had no objections to the potions for sleep and pain-relief, but the blood-replenishing draught made him gag and arguments often broke out over the nutrition potions, Harry wanting to know why he couldn't just have proper food.

"Because your body isn't ready for it yet!" Voldemort told him for what felt like the hundredth time.

"There's nothing wrong with my body!"

Voldemort was going to argue when he realised that the boy was almost right. He was still thin and pale, but his cuts had faded to thin white scars and his bruises too, were fainter.

"If you would stop being so stubborn and just tell why you're so thin I might be able to help you. Until then you will take your potion."

Harry swatted the bottle away, causing it to spill over the bed.

Voldemort hissed angrily at him. Why was the boy being so difficult? What bothered him most was the sudden surge of emotional distress that trespassed on his mind when he mentioned Harry's weight or his bruises.

"Remind me why I don't just kill you?" he asked in a tired voice, his head in his hands.

"Because you're an evil, remorseless sadist." Harry muttered bitterly.

Voldemort smiled at that.

"Yes… it would be such a shame to lose that title… Very well, I'll make a deal with you Harry."

Harry looked very apprehensive.

"You tell me who's been attacking you," he tried not to grimace as the familiar rush of anguish hit him, "and I will take away this barrier." He gestured around the bed.

Harry was torn. True, it would be nice to leave the bed, it was frustrating not being able to stretch his legs or look out of the window, but that meant telling Voldemort about the Dursleys. He would have to tell the truth of course, Voldemort always seemed to know when he was lying, Harry wasn't sure how.

On the other hand, Harry remembered some of the stories about Voldemort from when he was last at large. People said that he would invade the minds of his victims and, equipped with their memories, dreams and fears, he would create visions that would eventually drive them into insanity. Everything Voldemort found out about Harry he could use as a weapon against him. But then… if he could read people's minds then he could (and most probably would) attack Harry's, consent wasn't necessary. He didn't have much of a choice. Either he told Voldemort and won himself a little freedom, or he waited for Voldemort to break into his mind and would have to stay trapped in the bed.

Harry had made up his mind, the time for pride was long-gone.

Voldemort heard Harry's decision the second he made it, but did not let on. He wanted to hear Harry to say it.

"Ok." His voice was small. He sounded exhausted, despairing.

Voldemort tried to look calm but on top of his own burning curiosity, the boy's despair was weighing heavily on his mind.

"If you lie I shall know, Lord Voldemort always knows."

Harry nodded to show that he understood and opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. It was more difficult than he'd imagined.

"Can _I _ask _you _a question?"

Voldemort raised an eyebrow but said nothing, so Harry proceeded.

"Can you read my mind?" he blurted out.

Voldemort paused before answering, choosing his words carefully.

"Some things on the surface of your mind that are not well-hidden are open to me."

"Is that all?"

Voldemort frowned at him.

"Do you know anything about legilimency Harry?"

Harry shook his head.

"Legilimency is the ability to extract another person's memories and feelings from their mind. I, being a fairly accomplished legilimens, could invade your mind if I so desired. However, I do not think it wise to attack your mind at the present time."

"Why not?"

Voldemort smiled.

"Yes, it would make things much easier for you wouldn't it? You could simply allow me to slip into your mind and steal the truth from you. But your mind, Harry, is not at it's strongest and I think that, for now at least, we should be careful with it."

Harry started to protest that there was nothing wrong with his mind but Voldemort held up his hand to silence him.

"I believe I was asking the questions."

Voldemort leaned towards him expectantly, much to Harry's displeasure, his smile gleeful in anticipation.

"Who hurt you Harry?"

Harry sighed. This was it. The sooner he said it, the sooner he'd be able to leave the bed. He raised his head to look defiantly into Voldemort's gleaming red eyes.

"My cousin." There, he said it.

Silence.

Voldemort's smile faltered and something stirred in his eyes that made Harry look away.

Harry's cousin was a muggle, he lived with muggles… he was lying, he had to have been lying.

Voldemort grasped Harry's jaw firmly, forcing him to meet his eyes, searching…

"You do not lie." It wasn't a question.

Harry shivered.

Voldemort could feel his fear and his shame intensify and then, as tears began to form in the boy's eyes, threatening to fall, he felt something else. Furious, he released Harry and swept out of the room.

Pity.

No feeling he'd felt of Harry's compared to this. He'd never pitied anyone before, but Harry's tears had… This was ridiculous. Nearly all the children he'd killed had cried, had pleaded with him to spare them, as had many of the adults. He had always relished those tears, people could be so weak in the face of death.

He had never felt sorry for anyone.

What was it Harry had called him? An evil remorseless sadist. What was he now, an evil remorseless sadist with a conscience? Why was this happening to him? Voldemort brought his fists down hard on the table in front of him. This was going too far. Feeling Harry's pathetic human emotions had been bad enough, but Harry wasn't feeling pity. No, this was new.

The pity was completely his own.

**Like it? Hate it? Don't mind it? REVIEW! It'll only take a minute.**

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	8. Chapter 7  At Home

**DISCLAIMER: Anything you recognise belongs to J.K. Rowling, not me. I do not own Harry Potter. *sob**

**WARNING: Slash, OOCness, definitely limes and possibly lemons, torture, abuse, self-harm.**

**A/N: This is my first fanfic so please review and let me know what you think =)**

**Whoah, I wasn't expecting that many people to follow my story, no pressure then! Sorry if it turns out crap guys :P**

Voldemort paced between the gnarled trees impatiently. He hoped Severus could get there soon, he did not want to leave Harry unattended for too long. He heard a twig snap somewhere to his left and whirled around sharply, but it was only a fox, unaware of the Dark Lord's presence. He doubted Severus would have any new information for him, it had only been five days since they had last met. His servant had arranged to meet with him just a couple of hours after he'd taken Harry. Voldemort had refused to confirm whether or not the boy was in his possession and he still wasn't sure what he would tell the death eaters when he saw them. Dumbledore on the other hand, would know it was him. The enchantments around number 4 Privet Drive were specifically set for him and his death eaters, the alarm he had triggered would have alerted the Order of the Phoenix straight away. Surely they assumed him dead, knowing that he was in the hands of Lord Voldemort?

Voldemort didn't want to think about Harry and yet, he seemed to unable to think of anything else. An image flashed across his mind of Harry's broken body, bruised and bleeding, the night he rescued… kidnapped him. He struggled not to gasp as another wave of pity cascaded over him, he would never get used to this. Each rush of sympathy was followed immediately by self-loathing, this was beneath him, Lord Voldemort did not feel.

He wondered how honest he could afford to be with Severus when he arrived. Telling him about this latest development was out of the question. No, he would simply tell him that the situation was worsening, but that he was definitely still in control.

There was a small popping noise a few yards in front of him and he stopped pacing. Severus Snape strode forward to meet him, looking exceedingly bat-like, before lowering his head in a slight bow.

"Forgive me my Lord, I came as soon as I could. Dumbledore…"

"I understand."

Snape straightened up and walked alongside Voldemort.

"What news?"

"My Lord, the Order of the Phoenix are panicking, Potter's disappearance has unsettled them greatly, particularly Dumbledore."

Under normal circumstances, this news would have earned a rare smile, but Voldemort's pale face remained impassive.

"Does he believe the boy to be dead?"

Snape paused momentarily before answering, obviously nervous how his master would react to his answer.

"He thinks him still alive."

Voldemort bit back a growl of irritation and waited for Snape to continue. He could tell that his servant longed to ask for the truth but knew better than to ask for information that was not volunteered.

"He believes that, had he been killed, you would spread the news quickly in order to cause panic. He is guessing that you either wish to toy with the boy awhile before finishing him or that you plan to use him to some other end, perhaps bargain with him."

Voldemort merely nodded in acknowledgement of Snape's words, confirming nothing.

A long silence followed.

"You may recall Severus, that I was concerned about the link developing between the boy's mind and my own."

"Yes my Lord." Snape tried not to show that from Voldemort's concern he could deduce that the boy was still alive.

"Has Dumbledore any explanation?"

"He does not speak much on the subject, though I believe it weighs on his mind. He has not yet let on that he has any clue what has caused it."

Voldemort winced imperceptively as a wave of Harry's misery engulfed him.

"Very well. You will contact me straight away should you learn anything."

"Yes my Lord." Snape nodded a curt bow before disappearing.

Voldemort paused outside Harry's room. Would he still be crying? Would being in such close proximity cause the link to strengthen? He took a moment to compose himself, whatever he found when he opened the door, he would be able to deal with.

He needn't have worried. Harry was no longer crying, though his eyes were still slightly bloodshot. He looked exhausted.

For the first time since he could remember, Voldemort didn't know what to say. Teasing the boy might make him feel guilty, but kindness? Absolutely not. Thankfully, Harry spoke first, his voice surprisingly calm.

"I didn't think you'd be angry." He looked at Voldemort, waiting for a response, surprised when Voldemort immediately looked away.

"No witch or wizard should suffer at the hand of a muggle, it's undignified."

Harry looked away and Voldemort took the opportunity to study him more carefully. Meeting the boy's eyes had been agony, it was as if he could see every hardship he'd ever faced, everything he'd suffered… His thoughts sickened him.

"Have you taken your potions?"

Harry didn't bother to give an answer; he hadn't, and Voldemort knew it.

Taking up his place beside Harry's bed, Voldemort began sifting through the various bottles, picking out the ones Harry still needed.

"Well take them and then I can take away this barrier."

"You said you'd take it down if I told you who attacked me! We had a deal."

"Yes, I'm aware of that, but I did not specify when and so I am at perfect liberty to keep it in place if you do not cooperate."

Harry groaned.

"I knew I couldn't trust you."

"Of course you can't, I'm your worst enemy, now take these."

Not wanting to anger Voldemort again, Harry took the various potions without complaint.

"You look stronger."

Harry had nothing to say to him.

"Strong enough to walk?"

Voldemort smiled, amused, as comprehension dawned on Harry's face. He was going to take the barrier down after all!

Harry nodded.

"Very well," and Voldemort drew out his wand and moved it in a zigzag motion through the air. There was a slight rustling noise.

Hesitantly, Harry reached an arm out over the bed and couldn't help but smile when he met no resistance. He threw back the covers, eager to walk again but Voldemort put out a hand to slow him.

"Easy now Harry, we wouldn't want you to… hurt yourself." His lips curled on the last two words and Harry didn't miss the extra emphasis he placed on them, but he was too happy at his miniscule amount of freedom to take Voldemort's words to heart. He did slow down a little however, savouring the feel of the cold stone floor beneath his feet before he stood. He didn't know what Voldemort was so worried about, he felt fine. He took his first step forwards and saw the room sway as his knees buckled. Voldemort caught him a second before he hit the ground and Harry was surprised at how effortlessly he lifted him back onto the bed. Then he remembered to be repulsed at the thought of Voldemort holding him.

"I'm fine," he growled, embarrassed.

"Maybe walking isn't such a good idea just yet."

"No! I can do it! I can… I just need a breather."

Harry took a few deep, steadying breaths, trying to forget the feel of Voldemort's arms around him.

"Ok."

Harry got to his feet and managed a few steps this time before wobbling and, to his great embarrassment, grabbing Voldemort's arm to steady himself.

Voldemort was startled but remained still, allowing Harry to regain his balance. He smirked a little when he saw Harry's flushed cheeks.

Harry desperately wanted to release the man's arm but wasn't sure he could stand without it. The joy of being allowed out had been swallowed by his shame and frustration, and he soon found himself fighting back tears once more.

Voldemort grimaced a little at Harry's torrent of emotions and knew that he had had enough. He released his arm from Harry's grip and slid it around the boy's back before he could fall. Harry's cheeks burned with shame as he allowed Voldemort to half-carry him back to the bed, where he promptly fell into a restless sleep.

A week had now passed since Voldemort had snatched Harry from the Dursleys'. After a painstaking amount of effort from both wizards, Harry was now able to walk quite happily around the room, providing he was slow and allowed time for his brain to catch up with his feet. He had been surprised to find that Voldemort had been very patient with him as he practiced.

"Patience is part of the Slytherin package," he had told Harry, "what use is determination without it?"

Harry grudgingly admitted that this made a fair amount of sense. A man who waits thirteen years of a half-life to regain his body must have a fair amount of patience, even if he hadn't started out with it.

Voldemort found Harry leaning against one of the chairs beside the fire, hugging his knees to his chest, the gently flickering flames reflected in his eyes.

"You are allowed to sit in the chairs you know," Voldemort said as he settled into the chair opposite Harry.

Harry didn't answer, he was too lost in his own thoughts which, unbeknownst to him, were being silently read by the man opposite him.

A wicked smile spread across Voldemort's face.

It was understandable. He had given Harry safety and good health, two things he probably couldn't remember ever having.

"Your internal dilemmas really are amusing Harry."

That got his attention.

"I don't know what you mean."

"You feel safe, contented," he smirked, "And you know you shouldn't."

Harry got to his feet, blushing furiously.

"I don't know what you're talking about! Content? Here? With you? You're insane."

Voldemort raised an eyebrow.

"I'm insane? You feel at home imprisoned in the house of a man who desperately wants to kill you, and _I'm _insane?

Harry couldn't be bothered to try and deny it.

"I wish you wouldn't do that."

"What?"

"Read my mind."

"Oh but I'm learning so much," Voldemort replied silkily.

Harry trudged over to the window, confused, angry and embarrassed. A few minutes of silence passed between them.

"Who is she?"

This was not good. He wouldn't answer, 'I won't answer and I'll think about something else.'

_I said 'who is she?'_

The words were not spoken aloud this time, but echoed around the inside of his head.

_No one._

_Who is she?_

_No one._

_Who is she?_

_Who?_

_The girl._

_Cho?_

"Dammit!"

Voldemort laughed a cruel laugh, it didn't matter how strong their connection got, teasing Harry would always be fun.

"What is she to you?"

"Nothing!"

"Is that so?"

More silence.

"She's just a girl I asked to the Yule Ball last year," Harry mumbled tracing the pattern of the curtains with his fingertips, "she's nothing special."

Voldemort loved how his words could make Harry turn such a violent shade of pink. He stretched out leisurely in his chair.

"You could do better."

Harry turned to stare at him, eyebrows raised.

"The Boy Who Lived, The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord, the Chosen…"

"What did you just say?" Fresh shock was pasted on Harry's pale face.

Voldemort looked momentarily confused and then smiled his mocking smile once more.

"Oh but this is precious, did Dumbledore never tell you why I tried to kill you Harry?"

'No,' thought Harry, 'never.' He knew, Harry was sure of that, and yet he refused to tell him. Perhaps he was simply waiting for the right time? But the right time had passed, it was too late now for Dumbledore to give him the answers he so desperately needed. He shook his head.

"No, no he didn't."

_(some time later)_

Voldemort's patience was wearing thin.

"Harry?"

The boy had been sat quite still on the chair opposite for about half an hour, occasionally opening and closing his mouth and once or twice even forming incoherent half-sentences.

'A prophecy… a prophecy about him, him and Voldemort…That was why his parents were dead, why Voldemort had tried to kill him… and no one ever thought to tell him.'

"Harry!"

Harry looked up into Voldemort's eyes.

"I…I never knew," he said breathlessly, "Dumbledore never…"

"He doesn't trust you Harry." Voldemort chose his words carefully, playing to what he could make out of Harry's muddled thoughts.

"He expects you to fight me, to obey him, to trust him, but he doesn't even trust you enough to tell you why."

Harry tried to disregard Voldemort's words, he knew what he was trying to do. He didn't want to doubt Dumbledore, but was there some truth in what Voldemort was saying? What other explanation was there for Dumbledore not telling him? Then again, now that he knew, he wasn't sure he wanted to, all he'd really

gained was a head full of unanswerable questions.

"He would have told me, when the time was right."

"But the time won't be right Harry, he won't ever have the chance now. Shouldn't he have told you much sooner? I could have killed you in the graveyard Harry and then you would have died without ever knowing."

Harry sighed. There was no point trying to understand Dumbledore, he should have learnt that by now.

"You see how fascinating we are Harry? Fate set you apart from all others before you were even born, tried to make us equals."

The very idea of it made him smile. How foolish to think that a teenage boy with no extraordinary magical talent could vanquish the great Lord Voldemort. He waited for Harry to speak again, but when he did, it was not what he expected to hear.

"Do you drink?"

Voldemort raised an eyebrow.

"Occasionally."

"A glass of firewhiskey and I swear I will _never _try to kill you."

Voldemort laughed in earnest. This was possibly the most surreal conversation he had ever had, considering who it was with.

"You're really in no position to be making demands."

Harry frowned.

"It wasn't a demand, it was a request."

"Well in that case…"

Harry's spirits lifted a little when a dusty bottle and two glasses came zooming towards them. A minute later Voldemort was handing him a glass half-filled with a translucent reddish-brown liquid that looked rather a lot like vinegar.

"Keep that down and maybe we'll even manage some food tomorrow."

Harry rolled his eyes. Trust Voldemort to remind him how pathetic and weak he still was. One sip though, was all it took to dispel any feelings of weakness. The firewhiskey scorched his throat but seemed to clear his head, perhaps burning away the thoughts he didn't want to deal with. He waited a couple of minutes to see if his body rejected it, but it stayed down and he gladly took another sip.

Voldemort surveyed him curiously over his glass the whole time, much to Harry's annoyance.

"What?" he said, rather loudly.

"You fascinate me Harry."

Knowing this was not meant as a compliment, Harry shot him a resentful look.

"I'm not going to lie, you're not at all how I imagined."

"Sorry to disappoint you," Harry replied sarcastically, "So what, did you think I'd be bigger? Stronger? Better-looking?"

Voldemort smiled,

"Something like that," and without taking his eyes off the boy, he downed the last of his drink.

They sat in silence awhile until Harry had finished.

"Bed," said Voldemort sternly, as if to a much younger child.

Harry felt too groggy from the firewhiskey to argue and he stumbled clumsily across the room before collapsing face-first onto the bed.

Voldemort rolled his eyes.

"Lightweight."

There was an answering groan, muffled by the pillows. Voldemort shook his head, smiling, and turned to leave.

Harry raised his head a little.

"You're leaving?"

"Oh I'm sorry, did you want a bed-time story?"

Harry looked confused at the whole situation and then apparently gave up trying to understand what was going on, and crashed his head back down into the pillow. He grumbled a barely discernible 'shu'p', and Voldemort left him to it, highly amused.

**A/N Sorry it took so long to update, been quite busy. Also, you wanted them longer, was this ok?**


	9. Chapter 8  In Dreams

**DISCLAIMER: Anything you recognise belongs to J.K. Rowling, not me. I do not own Harry Potter. *sob**

**WARNING: Slash, OOCness, definitely limes and possibly lemons, torture, abuse, self-harm.**

**A/N: This is my first fanfic so please review and let me know what you think =)**

**Whoah, I wasn't expecting that many people to follow my story, no pressure then! Sorry if it turns out crap guys :P**

**In this chapter, italics mean dreams.**

By the time Voldemort had reached the library, he knew that Harry must have fallen asleep; nothing else could stem the flow of intrusive thoughts so abruptly. So far, the only new emotion he could feel of his own accord was pity, but pity could too easily turn to guilt and guilt to affection, The thought made him shudder.

Despite his exhaustion, Voldemort began poring over his notes again until he had read them so many times that the words seemed to be permanently imprinted on his eyes. He sighed heavily. He was going around in circles and his head ached from too much reading. He closed his eyes in an attempt to clear his blurred vision but, on doing so, found that he had no desire to open them again.

_He was in Harry's room, watching him trying to walk ,but the boy promptly lost his balance and fell into Voldemort's arms. He was surprised how light the boy felt, almost too light… He looked down to see silent tears sliding down hollow cheeks._

"_Harry?" _

_His voice was barely audible and his eyes were wide with shock. He stared into the glassy emerald eyes and felt the boy shrinking in his arms. The hands that had been resting on flesh moments before, were now holding up only skin and bone. He watched as Harry's face hollowed out before his very eyes, becoming more and more skeletal by the second. He looked around to see who was making this happen but, seeing no one, he turned back to ask Harry._

"_Who…"_

_But he stopped short at the sight that met his eyes. He was no longer holding Harry but instead, pointing his wand at him. He felt his jaw move against his will and heard his own voice echoing around the room:_

"_I'm going to kill you Harry Potter, I'm going to destroy you."_

_The skeletal figure simply gazed straight back at him, waiting for the curse._

Voldemort woke with a jolt, the last of the bright green light fading from his eyes. Shivering and sweating, he made his way to his own room, took a potion for dreamless sleep, and was out again in minutes.

By the time the food had settled properly in his stomach, Harry was feeling rather warm and sleepy and decided that it wouldn't hurt to just shut his eyes awhile…

"_Harry get down!" Harry ducked, a curse just missing his left ear, and pressed his body flat against the cool concrete of the platform. The Hogwarts Express would be leaving in three minutes and if Dumbledore didn't finish Voldemort soon, he was going to miss it. He heard Voldemort's voice hiss a strange incantation and somewhere in the distance, a woman was screaming. Harry though that maybe he should try to find her but then he remembered that she didn't want his help, not anymore._

_He raised his head a fraction of an inch, trying to see the clock on the wall._

"_Harry get down!"_

_But this time he did not obey, but stood up, shocked. It had not been Dumbledore that had spoken this time, or had it? It had come from his left, from Voldemort… but it had sounded so much like Dumbledore…_

_At that moment, both wizards shot spells at each other, the jets of light met in the middle and Harry saw a pearly-white, wispy version of himself spring from the centre._

'_Priori Incantatem,' thought Harry, 'because they're the same." _

_He watched the ghost-Harry drift backwards and forwards between the two wizards and then…_

Harry woke with the chime of the clock and the rumbling of the train still loud in his ears, to find Voldemort leaning over him.

"Don't touch me!" He said, jerking backwards.

He knew Harry was terrified, he could tell… he could feel it. Though he hadn't been afraid of him for some time now, there was definitely no mistaking the fear in the boy's eyes, as if he were a mere second away from death.

It took Harry a few seconds more to realise that he had been dreaming and it was many minutes later before he was able to talk. He mumbled an apology and got up, walking on shaking legs to the window, attempting to get as far away from Voldemort as possible. He could feel the man's eyes on him as he stood gazing out of the window at the rolling hills. He thought about his dream, about Dumbledore and Hogwarts. He heard the woman's scream and let out a great shuddering sigh, leaning against the window ledge for support. He didn't hear Voldemort walking towards him, and jolted when he heard his voice directly behind him.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine!" He replied irritably, but he sounded breathless and Voldemort could see that his messy black hair was damp with sweat, clinging to his pale face.

"You're shaking…"

Harry didn't answer, but twitched when Voldemort took out his wand. This didn't go unnoticed by Voldemort and through the infinitesimal amount of concern he was feeling, he managed a smirk of satisfaction. He flicked his wand at the wall beside the bed and a solid wooden door wooden door formed there.

Harry gave him a questioning look.

"Shower, you'll feel better," he said bluntly.

Harry nodded, silently very grateful, and stumbled towards the door.

"And Harry?"

He turned to face Voldemort who was smiling wickedly back at him.

"You have ten minutes. Any longer and I'll assume you're trying to drown yourself."

He didn't need to say what he'd do if that was the case.

It was a rather modest bathroom, small and simple. Harry hastily undressed, leaving his clothes in a messy heap and stepped under the shower. The stream of hot water hitting his skin made him tense up a little but he gradually relaxed and leaned back against the cool tiles.

Every now and then, Voldemort had left him a bowl of warm water and a sponge to clean himself with. It did the job, removing the last traces of blood and dirt, but it did not soothe him or clear his head like this did.

He washed himself quickly, heeding Voldemort's warning. He found two large, dark green towels on a rail to one side and was delighted to find that they were warm. It was only then that he noticed his pile of clothes had disappeared and been replaced with new ones. He emerged a minute later in plain jeans and a baggy, navy t-shirt.

Voldemort decided not to press Harry about his dream just yet.

"Better?"

Harry nodded.

"Feeling any effects from last night?"

Harry thought for a moment that he was talking about the dream and then groaned when he remembered the firewhiskey.

"Was I dreadful?"

Voldemort laughed.

"Not at all, most amusing."

To his surprise, Harry gave him a weak half-smile before flopping down on the bed.

"In that case, you will recall that you promised you'd never try to kill me?"

Another groan.

"Well, promise you'll never irritate me, and perhaps we could try some breakfast."

Harry sat up.

"Are you serious?"

"Am I ever not serious?"

"Ok ok I promise."

Rolling his eyes at Harry's readiness to obey, Voldemort summoned, seemingly out of nowhere, a small plastic pot and spoon which sped towards Harry.

"Fruit puree?" asked Harry incredulously.

"Forgive me Harry," Voldemort began sarcastically, "I didn't think a banquet would be fitting for your first meal in nearly two weeks."

"You really get a kick out of this don't you?"

"Keeping you alive?" His voice told Harry just what he thought of that idea.

"Treating me like a child."

Voldemort laughed.

"Is one no longer a child at fifteen?"

"I'm not."

Voldemort's smile faltered but Harry was too busy eating to notice. It felt good to eat again, it made him feel more human. He might have even felt a little less pathetic if he wasn't eating baby food.

As he ate, he thought back to the fifteen year-old Tom Riddle, tall and pale (and though he was loath to admit it, rather good-looking) and already very accomplished in terms of the dark arts.

Voldemort watched these thoughts with amusement but made no comment. Instead, he wondered how much was also true of Harry. The boy had clearly never dabbled in the dark arts, and good-looking? Well, he wasn't really the person to ask.

Having scorned Voldemort's choice of food, Harry now had to grudgingly admit that he'd been right. The fruit sat heavily in his stomach and he shifted around on the bed in discomfort.

Voldemort smiled and shot Harry an 'I told you so' look before leaving.

It had not been easy keeping calm in front of Harry. With every slight change of light, he thought he saw the boy's face hollowing out, reminding him every second of his dream. He never had dreams. The bond between them was getting stronger by the day and, with no news from Severus, Voldemort grew more and more anxious. How far would this go? What if it kept getting worse and he found no way to stop it? It was surely only a matter of time before other emotions came into play.

He pitied Harry. Why? Because of the state he was in, which, both directly and indirectly, had been caused by him. If he felt bad for Harry because of things he'd done to him… wasn't that the same as guilt?

He was furious now, incensed at the shame and frustration of it all. Why did nothing go to plan where Harry was concerned? Why was it never simple? Could it be the prophecy, making it impossible for him to kill the boy? The prophecy said that Harry had the power to vanquish him but not that he would definitely succeed…the boy was nothing, _nothing _compared to him.

Harry reminded him of Dumbledore, both were muggle-loving fools, always harping on about the supposed 'power of love', both constantly getting in his way. Though, while Dumbledore was a thorn in his side, Harry was more of a large, barbed spear, aggravating him every time he tried to move. Harry, who had _smiled _at him. The memory sickened him, though still more nauseating was the fact that it hadn't bothered him at the time.

The need to hurt something, to kill, was so great that he felt he could hardly stand it. However, not liking to leave Harry alone unless absolutely necessary, he resolved to head to the library.

That smile…His stomach twisted in revulsion. The boy hadn't seemed the slightest bit scared of him. He remembered that night in the graveyard, the feel of Harry's terror, the sound of his screams when he touched his scar…Yes. That was how it should be between them. Harry should back away from him, trembling with fear, _not _smile at him. Could it be he'd come to think of Voldemort as something other than his worst enemy?

He had reached the library now but was not looking at books on mind invasion. Instead, he found himself perusing the psychology shelves. Perhaps this affliction was not magical?

Many hours later however, he had still found nothing that sounded like what he was experiencing. He sighed deeply, his eyes lazily drifting over the pages of _'Feeling What You Shouldn't' _, when something caught his eye.

A few minutes later, he slammed the book shut, incandescent with rage. He had found something that might explain Harry's smile.

He'd been too kind to Harry, given him too much, talked to freely to him.

And then he felt something else.

Despair. He recognised it from his darkest times in Albania, but this time he knew it wasn't his own. He forced his anger down and went to check on Harry.

**:O Spot the stolen line **

**Uh oh, Voldy's holding in his anger, that doesn't bode well… **

**Hope the dreams were ok, I tried not to make them too pretentiously psychological. If you have any questions about the dreams then please don't hesitate to ask.**

**Not sure if I'm happy with this chapter, but I wasn't happy with the last one and it got more positive reviews than all the others so… who knows?**


	10. Chapter 9  Like A Flower

**DISCLAIMER: Anything you recognise belongs to J.K. Rowling, not me. I do not own Harry Potter. *sob**

**WARNING: Slash, OOCness, definitely limes and possibly lemons, torture, abuse, self-harm.**

**A/N: This is my first fanfic so please review and let me know what you think =)**

**Whoah, I wasn't expecting that many people to follow my story, no pressure then! Sorry if it turns out crap guys :P**

**Any Bowie fans reading this may understand my choice of chapter title XD**

It was dusk, Harry was gazing out of the window, lost in thought. All he could see were the endless hills, broken up here and there by clumps of trees. It all looked so peaceful, so serene; who would ever suspect that the infamous Lord Voldemort lived here?

'No one,' thought Harry, 'No one is coming for me.'

As his eyes fell upon the horizon, Harry couldn't help but wonder where exactly he was. From the surrounding scenery, it seemed that Hogwarts could be just out of sight over the hills.

Hogwarts was the only place Harry has ever felt at home. He yearned to be back, enjoying the start of term feast or visiting Hagrid; he wouldn't even mind being in potions class with Snape after this.

There were moments when Harry felt relatively safe, but he was fed up with feeling trapped, cooped up in his room with only the view from the window proving that the world outside still existed. He longed to be playing Quidditch, soaring through the sky like he owned it, it made him feel so free…

But he was not free.

And then there was Voldemort. Harry shuddered. At times he felt oddly grateful for his care, even though he knew he was working up to killing him. But every other moment was spent in fear, dreading the moment he'd return, perhaps to tell Harry that it was time for him to die or worse, that someone else he loved was now dead.

He always struggled to suppress a shiver when he met Voldemort's menacing scarlet eyes, and every now and then he would see a sinister smile, a malevolent grin, that would remind him who he was dealing with. This was the man that killed his parents, that was going to kill him, the man who was incapable of love, gloried in terrorising others and killed without remorse.

His despair did not go unnoticed and Voldemort was soon sauntering through the door.

"How is it you always know to come in when I least want you here?" asked Harry angrily.

Voldemort's answering smile only infuriated him further.

"I take it back," he spat venomously at Voldemort, "If I ever get the chance, _I will kill you."_

With inhuman speed, Voldemort was pinning Harry against the wall, a dangerous look on his face, his cruel eyes narrowed.

Harry gasped in alarm, not anticipating such a sudden change of mood, and trembled when Voldemort leant in so far that his serpentine face was only millimetres from his own.

"I would love," he whispered softly, "to see you try."

Harry struggled pointlessly against Voldemort's vice-like grip, desperate to get away. His scar was screaming, presumably due to both Voldemort's proximity and his anger.

"Are you frightened now Harry Potter?"

Voldemort forced Harry to face him, but his eyes were screwed tightly shut in fear, he couldn't bare to look into those callous, unfeeling eyes, not when they were so close.

Voldemort too closed his eyes, but in ecstasy, not fear. The boy's terror was intoxicating and he could not hold back now.

Harry felt one of the hands release him and he opened his eyes just in time to see why.

"_Crucio!" _

Harry screamed. Every inch of his skin felt as though it was on fire, it was far, far worse than he remembered. But Voldemort did not release him, keeping him pinned to the wall, chuckling softly.

After what felt like an eternity of pain, Voldemort lifted the curse and relinquished his hold on Harry's shirt. Harry fell to his knees, gasping for breath.

And then they _both_ screamed.

Harry writhed on the floor as if still under Voldemort's curse, clutching his forehead while Voldemort fought to stay standing, clutching onto the curtains for support.

_They were back at the Dursley's, Harry was in his cupboard, doing chores, being hit, being called a freak. Then they were at Hogwarts in the infirmary, Voldemort saw a young bushy-haired witch who looked as if she'd been petrified._

There was a brief pause in the stream of memories, barely long to enough for Voldemort to think about what the hell was happening.

_Voldemort's eyes flashed with recognition on seeing his younger self in the Chamber Of Secrets with a young red-haired witch, who was lying still and pale at his feet. Then there was the basilisk, then dementors, lots of them, and a large black dog, a werewolf and a man he recognised as Sirius Black. _

Then Voldemort understood. Harry was having flashbacks. Though, why he was also experiencing them, he did not know. He could hear Harry whimpering on the floor, and then, feeling a very potent wave of pity wash over him, he was sucked back into Harry's worst memories.

_He saw his mark, a newspaper with Harry gracing the front page, a boy who could only be the Malfoy's son, the pretty dark haired girl that Harry liked…_

With another twinge of sympathy, Voldemort saw that Harry was drenched with sweat now, his voice hoarse from crying out and tears running freely down his cheeks.

_He saw his father's grave, a flash of green light and a dead body, Harry being cut, himself rising from the cauldron, he saw his own face, heard Harry's screams as he touched his scar, as he tortured him. _

His mind was dragged from the torrent of memories as he felt hands grasping the front of his robes, Harry's hands. He seemed unable to speak through the pain, but his wide green eyes were silently pleading with him.

'_Make it stop.'_

The message came through loud and clear and at that moment, Voldemort realised that he wanted to. Not quite believing what he was doing, he crouched beside Harry, eyes still wide with shock.

"I…I don't know how…" he said uselessly. He put a hand on Harry's shoulder to steady him but it was no use and Harry fell into him, shuddering and feverish, before being swallowed once again by his flashbacks.

_A boy at least three times Harry's size had him pinned against the wall, a fist was heading towards him fast and then there was blackness._

Harry was convulsing so much now that Voldemort worried he'd hurt himself and so, gritting his teeth, he wrapped his arms tightly around him, pressing him to his chest.

_Harry dragged a kitchen knife across his already bloodied arm and there was darkness again. Then there were Voldemort's eyes, Voldemort taunting him, pinning him against the wall, torturing him again…_

And then it was over.

Harry's body went limp in Voldemort's arms and he loosened his hold a little.

It felt as though it was taking all of Harry's energy just to keep breathing, his mind was swimming with echoes of his worst recollections with reality occasionally cutting in, telling him to get away from Voldemort. He wasn't safe, he knew that, but whenever he tried to determine what was happening, images would flash across his mind, interrupting his thoughts. He felt dizzy from his internal chaos, disorientated by his efforts to think. His head ached painfully and his scar throbbed.

Voldemort relaxed his hold on the boy to get a proper look at him. His face glistened with sweat and tears, and he trembled in Voldemort's arms. Moving a stray strand of hair off Harry's face, he could feel that Harry was cold.

With a heavy sigh, Voldemort decided, just this once, to let the emotions rule him. Nothing but pity for Harry could make Voldemort give him what he needed, nothing but this curse of sympathy would help him bring Harry back from this. He needed to care about the boy to save his life…

So he would.

**Yes yes, I know it's short, but it's a pretty juicy one and that just felt like a good place to end it. Anyway, I've already written most of the next chapter so will update again soon. **


	11. Chapter 10  Bounce

**DISCLAIMER: Anything you recognise belongs to J.K. Rowling, not me. I do not own Harry Potter. *sob**

**WARNING: Slash, OOCness, definitely limes and possibly lemons, torture, abuse, self-harm.**

**A/N: This is my first fanfic so please review and let me know what you think =)**

**Whoah, I wasn't expecting that many people to follow my story, no pressure then! Sorry if it turns out crap guys :P**

**Sorry for the late update! I had a couple of bits I really struggled with but, after much crossing out and scrunching up of paper, I'm finally happy with it. Though, the bits I struggled with turned out to be in the next chapter anyway so I could have posted this one the whole time! Oh well, shouldn't be too long before the next one, might even put it up later today =D**

**This chapter is dedicated to GinHanelle and A Single Fragile Rose who have both left me so many lovely reviews XD Thanks Guys X**

Opening the floodgates to his emotions was not as awful as he had expected, he supposed that some of them had already been there, to a certain degree, for awhile. It still felt odd though, to pity Harry, and the pain of it had evolved to also become physical. Seeing the boy now, without holding back his feelings, put a strange knot in Voldemort's chest. At that moment, he genuinely wanted to care for the boy, the only problem was, he didn't know how.

He 'shhhed' awkwardly and ran a long-fingered hand through Harry's tangled hair in what he hoped was a comforting manner. It felt strange, foreign, to both of them.

'What would people say if they could see me now?' Voldemort shook the thought from his mind. He couldn't afford to think like that. Not wanting to see Harry's confusion at his actions, he pulled him back against his chest. For some reason, he felt that he should rock Harry slightly, but where this idea sprang from he had no idea, and so he quashed it.

Harry was too exhausted to process what was happening, lost inside himself, drowning in his despair.

It was not long before Voldemort noticed Harry stop shaking and felt his breathing change. He was relieved, his legs cramping from the awkward position he was in. Of course, there was also the fact that he wasn't entirely comfortable hugging his 'worst enemy', well, anyone for that matter.

He lifted Harry in his arms, crossed the room and laid him gently down on the bed, pulling the blankets over him. He remained seated beside him awhile in case the transition had woken him, but when Harry didn't stir, he left, returning a moment later with some warm water and a flannel. He could probably have used magic, but it soothed the twist in his chest to do things the muggle way, which he hoped meant that it was best for Harry.

In a way that could almost be described as tender, he sponged the dried sweat and tears from Harry's face.

Voldemort spent the night in the chair beside the bed, watching over Harry, who slept silently and apparently soundly.

_XXx Time Gap xXx (Must find out how to put in lines)_

Forgetting that he had taken down all the barriers in his mind, Voldemort was not prepared, when Harry awoke, to deal with all his renewed anguish. It had made little difference the night before; Harry had felt too numb for his emotions to have any effect on Voldemort. Now however, Voldemort had to bite down hard on his tongue to keep from crying out. He was torn for a moment, trying to resist the urge to shut out the emotions once more. He managed to endure them for a couple of excruciating minutes, but it was too much. After a few more minutes and a great deal of effort he had tuned out the worst of Harry's feelings, managing to reduce them to a sort of background hum in his mind.

Harry had not opened his eyes, evidently trying to convince Voldemort that he was still asleep.

"I know you're awake."

Harry opened his eyes, but they seemed so empty and his face so expressionless, that 'awake' did not seem the right term to use.

"How do you feel?"

No answer.

"Harry?"

Harry closed his eyes again and lay quite still. Voldemort felt a little awkward. He wasn't used to it, and he didn't much like it, but reminding himself what was at stake, he fought the irritation out of his voice.

"You were having flashbacks, do you remember?"

Though Harry still didn't answer, Voldemort knew from his waking emotions that he did remember.

"Are you going to say anything?"

Silence.

Knowing that he would not be able to keep his temper much longer, Voldemort left, sighing heavily.

Hearing the door click shut, Harry opened his eyes. He felt as weak as when he first arrived and even more hopeless. Though he wasn't in any pain, he was confused, frustrated and truly exhausted. He was fed up with letting Voldemort play games with him, tired of the man's changing moods and the subsequent changes in what Harry thought of him. He felt as though he spent every minute of his life just waiting for the next awful thing to happen. He hadn't asked for this life, Voldemort had given it to him, this constant battle, when he was too young to fight it. He had no choice, fate said that he alone could finish Voldemort and if he failed, hundreds, possibly thousands, would lose their lives. But he was fifteen. How could they expect him to save them from the most powerful dark wizard of all time? How could he compare to the wizard who, according to Dumbledore, was the greatest student Hogwarts had ever had, when he struggled to achieve even mediocre results? Voldemort could do magic beyond anything Harry could imagine and somehow, Harry just didn't think a disarming charm was going to cut it.

Voldemort returned a few minutes later with a phial of pale blue potion.

'No,' thought Harry, 'Not this time.'

The effort of blocking out Harry's feelings was quickly draining Voldemort of his energy, energy he knew he'd need to look after Harry. He hoped that a simple calming draught would be enough to quieten Harry's mind until he found a more permanent solution.

Harry was having none of it however, clamping his mouth shut and turning his head away.

"It's a calming draught!" Voldemort told him in an exasperated voice. When the boy still refused to cooperate, Voldemort felt his frustration threatening to turn into anger and gave in.

"I'm not going to force you to take it," he said, his voice calm, "but it's for your own good."

Now it was Harry's turn to feel torn. A calming draught was fast becoming necessary, but could he bear to start this whole thing again? Did he have a choice? Eventually, he decided he'd been through enough to justify making his life as easy as possible for himself.

"Ok," he grumbled resentfully.

Voldemort overlooked his surly tone, grateful at least for the break in the boy's silence. Without really thinking, Voldemort leant in to help Harry sit up.

Harry froze as he felt Voldemort's hand on his shoulder, more memories of the previous night coming back to him.

Voldemort watched Harry's eyes widen with shock before flashing accusingly over to his own, then quickly back at the ceiling. He knew what Harry was remembering and was not prepared to discuss it.

"Harry, potion." he instructed, uncorking the bottle and then waiting awkwardly for Harry to sit up or at least speak.

"You…why…what the…what…"

"Potion!" Voldemort repeated, more firmly this time.

Harry sat up unaided, energised by his shock, and accepted the potion.

A few minutes silence passed between them while they waited for the potion to take affect, giving Harry time to wrestle with his thoughts.

Voldemort had held him… He had cried and Voldemort had held him, had run his fingers through his hair…

'Gah!' thought Harry, trying hard to forget the feeling, but his curiosity would not allow it. All he could think was… why? Voldemort did not care about Harry, he'd made that perfectly clear thirteen years ago and many times since. So then why had he comforted him, _hugged _him practically?

'It was a joke,' Harry told himself, 'he was trying to mess with me, it was a sick joke and any minute now he'll be making death threats again."

The calming draught was beginning to work now and Harry found that the vast number of insane thoughts buzzing around inside his head were not bothering him as much as perhaps they should. It was nice to feel so relaxed and safe, even though his mind was desperately trying to tell him not to feel either. It was not unlike how he felt after firewhiskey…

"I don't get you," he told Voldemort matter-of-factly in his slightly drunk-like state.

Voldemort smiled a little.

"I'd be concerned for you if you did. Do you want anything?"

Harry shook his head, content just to be, and Voldemort left.

_XXx Time Gap xXx (Must find out how to put in lines)_

The potion eventually began to wear off and Harry, now fed up with doing nothing, got out of bed feeling more energetic than he had for some time. The added advantage of course was that keeping busy meant not being able to dwell on the events of the previous evening.

He quickly showered and redressed, returning to find Voldemort waiting in one of the chairs beside the fireplace.

Voldemort was a little surprised at how fast the boy seemed to have recovered but then, having survived those things in real life, flashbacks probably weren't that big a deal for Harry.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah," said Harry, surprising himself with his answer, "Yeah I'm fine."

"Hungry?"

"Little bit," he admitted nervously.

_XXx Time Gap xXx (Must find out how to put in lines)_

And so the days passed, Voldemort doing his best to tread lightly around Harry while the latter tried not to focus on all the unanswerable questions Voldemort's actions had left him with. They seemed to have come to an unspoken agreement not to talk about that night, which suited both of them just fine.

Harry showed no ill-effects after his flashbacks and settled down again in no time. Now able to eat fruit without any discomfort he had also progressed to small amounts of milk and juice.

Voldemort gradually grew a little more accustomed to all the emotions he could now feel but was still having to slip small amounts of calming potions into Harry's food and drink. He didn't feel guilty about it, but there was a slight tug somewhere beneath his ribcage that told him he should.

Voldemort was pleased to see the changes in Harry, though he know it was only a symptom of whatever was happening to him. It had been three weeks since he had brought the boy to the manor and he was growing stronger every day. Though he was still thin, he no longer had trouble with the foods Voldemort gave him and it wouldn't be long before he started to fill out slightly.

Harry's mood too seemed to have somehow improved. It was as if he'd hit the bottom that night at the Dursley's and bounced back a little. He appeared to be in relatively good spirits for someone in his position but Voldemort could tell that Harry had simply decided he had nothing left to lose.

He was wrong of course, there was always something else you could take from someone. Voldemort could have his loved ones killed in an instant, take away his sanity, torture him… but he wasn't sure that would sit well with his new-found conscience. Oh how he detested it. More than once he had come close to deciding to put the barriers to his mind back up and simply kill the boy. But no, he had waited too long for this, if he could just wait a little longer, rid himself of these awful emotions, he would be able to give Harry the slow, torturous death he deserved. Of course, with the barriers down, he wasn't sure he wanted that future for the boy, but he knew who he was, reminded himself that before this dread affliction he had wanted Harry dead more than anything. It was so difficult deciding what he wanted. It was as if he lived in the heads of two completely different people, stuck between wanting to kill Harry and wanting to look after him. It was a struggle sometimes to get the balance right, but he eventually found a point where he could be nice to Harry without forgetting his aim.


	12. Chapter 11  A Necessary Evil

**DISCLAIMER: Anything you recognise belongs to J.K. Rowling, not me. I do not own Harry Potter. *sob**

**WARNING: Slash, OOCness, definitely limes and possibly lemons, torture, abuse, self-harm.**

**A/N: This is my first fanfic so please review and let me know what you think =)**

**Whoah, I wasn't expecting that many people to follow my story, no pressure then! Sorry if it turns out crap guys :P**

**This chapter is dedicated to my lovely reviewer, aliengirlguy. =D**

"Morning." Voldemort greeted Harry a little more curtly than he'd intended.

"Hi," answered Harry meekly.

"Sleep well?"

Harry simply nodded. Voldemort disliked when the boy was all monosyllabic, it made him feel awkward.

"Breakfast?"

"Sure," replied Harry non-committally, waiting for the usual fruit salad to appear before him, though truthfully he was fed up with it.

But it did not.

"This isn't a hotel Harry," said Voldemort with a smirk before walking back out through the door, leaving it open behind him.

'Leave the room?' He was excited to do so, but nervous too. Though claustrophobic, this room had been his home for nearly a month, the only other place he'd been was the en suite. It would feel odd going somewhere else. Voldemort was standing in the hall outside and made the familiar zigzag motion with his wand. The accompanying rustling sound made Harry smile and ignoring his nerves, he stepped tentatively through the doorway, unaware of Voldemort watching him curiously.

The boy was so young, too young to be so fragile. He wasn't sure why, but seeing Harry's face light up at the prospect of simply leaving his room made Voldemort's insides squirm. Perhaps he should've let him out sooner.

Voldemort strode along the seemingly endless hallway with Harry in toe, struggling to keep up as he took in his new surroundings. The air was noticeably colder and it smelt slightly musty. The hall was gloomy, dimly lit with glowing torches fixed with wrought iron brackets onto the dark, panelled walls, the pattern of which, Harry noted, was vaguely reminiscent of prison bars. Where the walls eventually met the ceiling they were draped with cobwebs of an impressive size. With a growing sense of unease, Harry was reminded of Aragog, and he couldn't help but think that there were bound to be far worse things than oversized spiders in Lord Voldemort's abode.

After what seemed like a fair few minutes, they reached the stairs. Harry reached for the banister, wary of his only recent ability to walk, but snatched his hand back again on meeting with several decades' worth of dust, deciding he would simply pay extra attention to his steps.

Focusing his gaze downwards, Harry noticed that the intricate carpet caressing his bare and ever-colder feet was not unlike Mrs Figg's, though perhaps darker and more expensive. It looked out of place, the only thing in sight that seemed to be less than a hundred years old. The whole place had the distinct air of having once been very grand, but years of neglect had made it eerie rather than majestic. Not helping matters was the ghostly silence which seemed to make the place feel emptier, colder. The only sounds were Voldemort's sweeping robes and the soft padding of Harry's feet on the many stairs.

Eventually they came to large mahogany door which opened as they approached. Stepping into the cavernous kitchen, Harry was relieved to find that it was warmer, cleaner and distinctly more welcoming than the rest of the house. It was not lavishly decorated, in fact it was not unlike the Hogwarts kitchens aside from the absence of a hundred or so over-keen house elves.

No longer nervous, Harry remembered to feel awkward. The image of Voldemort in a kitchen was a strange one. In Harry's dreams, he was always in the graveyard or else seated in a darkened room, but the sight of him amongst pots and pans almost made Harry laugh. Almost.

Harry's head was buzzing with questions. What kind of things did Voldemort eat? Did he even need food? Could he cook? Surely he had people to do it for him? He pictured Voldemort standing at a kitchen counter, sleeves rolled up, chopping carrots. This time he allowed himself a small smile, the idea was after all, quite ridiculous.

Voldemort's voice jolted Harry back to reality. He flicked his wand lazily and everything he named appeared on a small oak table in one corner of the kitchen: a loaf of bread, pots of jam, a bowl of fruit and large jugs of milk and juice. It was a veritable feast. Harry made a beeline for the bread, having not been allowed it before, the smell renewing his love of food. It was whole however and Harry had no way to cut it.

"You haven't given me a knife."

"Is that wise?" Voldemort asked silkily.

Harry didn't answer. It seemed that every time he opened his mouth he just gave Voldemort more ammunition to use against him. Trying to gain back some sense of pride he moved over to the fruit, trying to look unperturbed.

Suddenly he felt Voldemort behind him and whipped around.

He had a knife.

He twirled it idly between his long, white fingers before offering the handle to Harry who grabbed it and pulled sharply in case Voldemort was simply teasing him. He hoped at the very least to cut Voldemort's hand, but no such luck.

"You underestimate my reflexes Harry." Voldemort's voice was calm but inside he was desperately curious. This knife was not unlike the one he had seen in Harry's flashbacks and he wondered what reaction seeing it might trigger.

Harry paused. He had a knife. Voldemort had given him a knife. Did the man trust him? Did he think Harry would just turn around now and simply cut some bread? He had a _knife _for Christ's sake. He considered his options. What would he have done had he been in this position two or three weeks ago? Cut himself? Kill himself? He could maybe even kill Voldemort if such a man could be killed by something as mundane as a kitchen knife. But Voldemort must be expecting all three, so why had he given it to him? Perhaps he thought that Harry wouldn't want to use it? Surprised at his realisation, Harry concluded that the man was right and turned to cut himself some bread.

Voldemort smiled. Despite being a little disappointed at the lack of drama, he was relieved that Harry didn't want either of them dead. He hadn't expected Harry to go for him of course, but he was surprised that Harry hadn't tried anything on himself, not that he'd have been successful. 'Three emotions at once and I'm still smiling,' he noted and turned away, enjoying Harry's shock as he casually ruffled his hair.

_XXx Small Time Gap xXx (Must find out how to put in lines)_

It wasn't that he had liked it, Harry was sure of that. But surely it wasn't wrong to feel comforted when someone, well… comforted you? But this was Voldemort. Voldemort's touch should be making his head split in two, not making him feel warm and tingly. Disgusted with himself, Harry finished his food, hoping that Voldemort couldn't hear what was going through his mind.

As it happened, Voldemort was too busy inside his own head to notice what was going on in Harry's. It had felt so natural just to reach out and touch the boy and what's more, apart from looking a little stunned, he didn't appear to mind. But could that be the Stockholm Syndrome gaining potency? This was a dangerous path, with both of them suffering from strange new emotions that they wouldn't normally have. He could only hope that Harry had more control over his hands than he did. But it hadn't been suggestive or flirtatious, at the very most the gesture was fatherly. He wasn't _attracted _to the boy for Christ's sake. Though he could tell that Harry wasn't unattractive, he didn't feel things like that about anyone, let alone the Boy Who Lived. There was maybe a _slight _fondness there but it was definitely caused by their connection and _not _a natural occurrence. He was not typically one to enjoy the company of others but Harry was quite unlike anyone else he'd ever met. He'd been surrounded by the same kinds of people his whole life, drooling admirers, the weak seeking shelter, the ambitious and the power-hungry hoping to share the glory…all Slytherin, all pureblood.

And then there was Harry. An oddity, a half-blood, a strange mish mash of Gryffindor and Slytherin. Harry who loathed him, who wanted to kill him, wasn't afraid to speak his mind to him. Such people usually died at his hand but now, being forced to spend time with the boy… They were alike in so many ways but in others they were virtually opposites. Harry fascinated him.

Harry's voice brought him back down to earth.

"er, thanks," he said half-heartedly, shuffling his feet.

Voldemort smiled, he loved it when it was Harry who felt awkward and not him.

"Come here."

Something in Harry did a backflip at his tone of voice. It was gentle, tender even. He stayed where he was.

"Come here." His voice was more commanding this time but not harsh. Slowly, Harry walked over to him looking extremely apprehensive. He stopped before he reached him, trying to maintain a safe distance between them.

Voldemort however, was having none of it and he closed the gap between them in two elegant strides.

Harry froze as Voldemort brushed his cheek with one of his ice-cold hands. He stared defiantly up into the scarlet eyes, he would not react. The man was messing with him, trying to unnerve him. It was definitely working. Harry watched the eyes travel over his face and neck and was just about to pull away when Voldemort spoke.

"Still so pale…"

He retracted his hand and met the green eyes, searching for something… anything, any trace that the boy felt for him. He did not find any. Relieved, he adopted his Dark Lord persona once more.

"Come, we're going outside."

Harry, who was suddenly feeling very claustrophobic, nodded shakily and followed Voldemort as he swept out through a small, creaky door in the corner of the room.

The daylight came as a bit of a shock after the gloom of the house and Harry was squinting against the low rays of morning sunshine. Feeling the warmth of the sun on his bare arms was so uplifting that Harry almost forgot about the incident in the kitchen. As Voldemort lead him around the side of the house to the sloping, overgrown lawn at the front, Harry couldn't help but think that he was probably the best looked-after prisoner that could still be labelled as such.

They walked a short way around the neglected garden in silence. It was not an awkward silence, nor was it companionable, it was… contemplative.

Voldemort could tell that Harry was happy to be outside and he in turn was quite content. He understood now why people were nice to each other. There was nothing saintly about it, they weren't better than him because of it, they did it to feel good. It was addictive, the feeling he got when he was nice to Harry, but he could not rely on it. It was a _symptom_, it would not last, he had to keep focused on his goal, he _would _kill Harry Potter.

There was a sharp intake of breath to his left, Harry had stopped and had his hand pressed to his scar.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," said Harry, "It just… never mind."

Voldemort brushed the hair away from Harry's scar, looking intrigued, but there was also a hunger there... He longed to touch it, the mark that connected them, that marked Harry as his supposed equal. It reminded him who this boy was and what he meant to the world, what it meant that the boy was completely at his mercy, so close he could touch him… but he didn't. It would be too painful, especially for Harry. Instead he continued walking.

"Does it hurt often?"

"Not so much now," Harry admitted, "Dumbledore says it hurts when you're nearby or if you're really angry but…"

"I'm pretty near now and it doesn't hurt," Voldemort finished for him.

Harry nodded and more silence followed.

"Do you like it here Harry?"

Harry began an indignant response but seeing Voldemort smirking knowingly at him, he sighed.

"Only because you're being nice to me," he said defensively, "I don't know why, but I do know you don't mean anything by it, I haven't forgotten who you are."

"You assume I'm faking it?"

"You're Lord Voldemort," he replied, as if this explained everything.

"That I am."

_XXx Time Gap xXx (Must find out how to put in lines)_

The heat of the past week had worked itself into a violent storm. Voldemort entered to find Harry sat on the windowseat, his knees at his chest, watching the storm through the rain-splattered windows. It was late evening and the jagged forks of lightning were clearly visible against the darkening sky.

Voldemort approached the window and sat the opposite end from Harry, leaning casually back against the glass and looking far more dignified than Harry.

They sat in silence, watching the storm with each occasionally stealing glances at the other when they weren't looking, trying to ascertain the mood. After half an hour, Voldemort rose.

"Can I get you anything?"

"No thanks, I'm fine," he said unconvincingly.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow at him.

"Ok ok fine it's just…"

"Yes?"

"I… I get, bored a bit. I just thought…" His uneasy voice trailed off into nothing.

"Perhaps a book?"

When Harry gave him one of his shy half-smiles he wasn't sure if he wanted to vomit or smile back.

"One minute then."

"Nothing evil!" Harry called out after him.

Voldemort laughed.

"Don't worry Harry, I'll be sure to find something perfectly PG."

It took Harry a moment to pick up on the muggle phrase and Voldemort was gone before he could mock him for it. He returned a few minutes later with a small yellow book which he handed to Harry.

"1001 Things You Never Knew About Quidditch…" Harry read out.

Voldemort smiled.

"I'm told you play."

Harry was speechless. He opened it, skimming over the contents: The Wronski Feint, Troy's Own Goal, The Cleansweep 7 Scandal…"

"Thank you." It was all he could say and for the first time, it was not forced or born of an awkward silence, he was genuinely grateful.

Voldemort grimaced slightly at the grotesquely human glow he felt at Harry's reaction. It was, after all, quite sickening.

"What's wrong?"

Harry had seen his expression.

"Nothing, I just… don't see the attraction," he said, gesturing at the zooming figures on the cover of the book.

"You didn't play, even at Hogwarts?"

"I have better things to do with my time."

"Like babysit me?"

Voldemort scowled at him.

"That," he replied, "Is a necessary evil."

"No such thing."

"Well I assure you it's not my favourite past time either."

"And yet here we both are."

"_Goodnight_ Harry." Voldemort's tone told him very clearly that the conversation was over.

"Night."


	13. Chapter 12  The Rain Again

**DISCLAIMER: Anything you recognise belongs to J.K. Rowling, not me. I do not own Harry Potter. *sob**

**WARNING: Slash, OOCness, definitely limes and possibly lemons, torture, abuse, self-harm.**

**A/N: This is my first fanfic so please review and let me know what you think =)**

**Yes this is a repost, the original got some bad reviews, it was awful, so I took it down, I hope y'all like this one better =D**

**Also I just want to say before anyone tells me that I know there are a lot of clichés in this story BUT I will also say that there are many that I'm avoiding and many there is a lot of non-cliché stuff to come. I can't be more specific or I'll give it all away. You'll just have to read and find out (and review).**

**About reviews, (yeah 'random' I'm talking to you) I want your advice but please don't be unnecessarily rude or hurtful. Do your research, my chapters were short and then people wrote me some ****polite**** reviews telling me so, and I made them longer so read more than the prologue before you go slagging off my story. Thanks.**

"Normal Speech"

'Thoughts'

"_Parseltongue"_

_Emphasis_

"Harry?"

He hadn't heard Voldemort come in and tensed at the sound of his voice.

"I'm going out for awhile."

Harry turned to face him, surprised.

"It would be most unwise for you to attempt to run, or to injure yourself. Any rooms you are not permitted to enter are locked. Understand?"

Harry nodded.

"Good, I won't be long. Make sure you eat something."

Harry laughed and immediately regretted it when he saw the look on Voldemort's face.

"What?" he asked sharply.

"Nothing, I just…" But Voldemort was glaring hard at him.

"You just sound a lot less evil when you act all concerned."

"You think I'm concerned? For you?" Voldemort was walking slowly towards him, stopping only when he was mere inches away.

"I want you out of my house Potter, _that _is why you will eat." And with that he turned to leave.

The hint at Harry's not-so-distant death snapped him back to his senses and he felt a rush of hatred towards Voldemort like he hadn't experienced in weeks.

"Fine. Have fun with your Death Eaters."

"Oh I will."

And then he was gone, leaving a seething Harry to glare at the door.

* * *

"Fizzing whizzbee."

The giant stone gargoyle sprung to life, allowing Severus Snape to step onto the moving spiral staircase up to the Headmaster's office. He rapped on the polished oak door with the griffin knocker and it opened, seemingly of it's own accord.

"Headmaster."

"Good evening Severus, please, take a seat."

He did as instructed, settling in the chair opposite a rather sombre-looking Albus Dumbledore.

"I have called you here, as you might have guessed, to talk about Harry. I trust you have received no more news from Lord Voldemort?"

Snape shook his head, eager to hear what Dumbledore had to say.

"Well in this instance I think it is safe to say that no news is, most likely, good news, or at the very least, better than the worst."

Snape looked perplexed.

"You still believe that the Dark Lord does not intend to kill him?"

"Oh I believe that is his eventual aim, but if my speculations are correct which, forgive me my arrogance, is likely to be the case, then we have a far bigger problem to be concerned with."

He paused to allow Snape to speak but the potions master remained silent, waiting for Dumbledore to continue.

"You came to me Severus at the beginning of the Summer to inform me of a connection between Harry's mind and Lord Voldemort's, a connection you say, that allows Voldemort to feel the emotions that Harry feels."

Snape merely nodded a confirmation.

"He asked you to report to him if I had any ideas as to the cause and, having not heard from you, called you back again shortly after kidnapping Harry?"

Another nod.

"Well then I think it is safe to assume that the connection has grown stronger in that time."

"How do you know this?"

"Voldemort, as I'm sure you know Severus, is not the kind to ask for help. He has always been very independent, even as a child. I believe that him calling you back and asking you a second time is evidence that he grows more desperate for answers. Naturally, experiencing the emotions of a normal human being or worse, an adolescent, is not particularly desirable to Voldemort. It is for this reason that I believe he will not kill Harry."

"If the connection aggravates him will he not simply want Potter dead more than before?"

"Ah but you see, if my theory proves correct, then Voldemort will undoubtedly develop emotions of his own."

Snape's eyes widened.

"And what is this theory?"

"It is my belief that Lord Voldemort can feel because he shares Harry's blood. When he created his new body he chose Harry's blood rather than any other's because he believed it would make him far more powerful. He was however, gravely mistaken. Harry's blood has made him, in his eyes, far weaker than anyone else's could have done. Why? Because in Harry's veins flows the love left by his mother's sacrifice."

Snape winced involuntarily, not at the mention of Lily Potter but at a sudden pain on his left arm. This didn't go unnoticed by Dumbledore.

"I will not take much more of your time Severus, I am sure Lord Voldemort will not punish you when he learns what has kept you."

There was a long thoughtful silence while Snape took in what Dumbledore had told him.

"But you surely don't expect the Dark Lord to _love, _Dumbledore? He feels nothing, he cares for no one."

"Why then, is Harry still alive?"

"Because _you _say he is, there is no proof, we have no reason to believe it."

"You do not think Lord Voldemort would want to announce his victory Severus? No, Harry is alive. If Voldemort has developed some kind of conscience then I think Harry is safe from that particular danger."

Snape raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"Being imprisoned does things to the mind. Harry is trapped, alone, isolated from the outside world."

"You don't think he can handle it?"

"It is not a question of 'handling it'. Bravery…hope… These things can only keep a person going for so long," Dumbledore replied gravely, his already lined face creased with concern, "Soon Harry will have to find something else to believe in or, more accurately, some_one."_

Snape's eyes were as wide as dinner plates.

"Do not look so shocked Severus, it is not unheard of for hostages to grow attached to their captors, in fact it's quite common and considering the uniqueness of the case…"

"Potter, grow attached to the Dark Lord? You grow senile in your old age Dumbledore, he murdered the boy's parents!"

"I am well aware of that Severus," said Dumbledore wearily, "but Harry will not be in his right mind. He is being kept alive by Voldemort, possibly even being kept well. To a prisoner, this is indistinguishable from kindness. He depends on Voldemort for food, for safety and for company and with Voldemort experiencing new emotions, there is a chance he is genuinely being kind to the poor boy."

Dumbledore's eyes sparkled, not with the usual joviality, but with tears.

"But is this not for the best? If they can get along until Potter is rescued…"

"It is not rescuing Harry before he is killed that is a problem Severus, it is rescuing him before he no longer wants to be rescued."

Snape looked dumbfoundedly at Dumbledore, lost for words.

"If we cannot find a way to save Harry then we rely on the chance that Voldemort's emotions develop faster than Harry's. Perhaps, in this instance, he would release him while he still wants to escape. Otherwise…"

Dumbledore trailed off, unable to say out loud what might happen if Harry Potter fell for Lord Voldemort.

Sensing that their discussion was at an end, Snape stood.

"How much of this am I to relay to the Dark Lord?"

"By all means tell him about Harry's blood, but I think it would be unwise to mention the possibility of Harry's… feelings."

Snape nodded curtly and swept from the office, not looking forward to his master's reaction to the news.

* * *

"Speak your mind Lucius, you know Lord Voldemort does not tolerate lies."

Voldemort was seated at the head of a long, ornate table in the dimly lit drawing room of Malfoy Manor. It was as good a place as any for their meetings. It was at least large enough to house the increasing number of Death Eaters. The absence of Severus Snape however, had not gone unnoticed by Voldemort.

"Forgive me my Lord, I… I was merely curious, the boy… Harry Potter…"

"Ah yes," Voldemort hissed, the corners of his mouth curling into a warped, thin-lipped smile, "You have heard then that the boy is in my possession."

Some of the braver Death Eaters whooped and clapped, others simply smiled, perhaps in relief that their master had something to be pleased about. Voldemort allowed his followers a moment's celebration on his behalf before raising a hand to silence them.

How he had missed this… the joy when a plan was successful, the admiration of his followers, the _power. _He felt foolish now, looking back on his confusion. How could he ever have thought that he wanted anything other than this? It was hard to believe that earlier that same day he had toyed with the idea of letting Harry live. He had worked so hard to get here, to develop his powers, to build his army… How could he even dream of throwing it all away out of sympathy for one person? He had allowed himself to become distracted, unhinged even, had come across one bump on his road to victory and let it stop him. But he was Lord Voldemort, he could not be stopped.

"The Boy Who Lived is my prisoner." He looked down the table, taking in the gleeful faces of his followers. "My offer of a quick and painless death no longer stands. He will be made to suffer as I have suffered and then my friends, I will finish him. I will put an end to the childish dream that was my 'downfall.'

* * *

He dismissed his followers and was just about to disapparate when he heard a loud popping noise. Severus Snape bowed low, his face unreadable.

"My Lord."

"You did not come when I called Severus."

"Forgive me, I was speaking with Dumbledore. My Lord, he knows why."

He spoke quickly, evidently trying to make Voldemort curious enough to refrain from torturing him. It worked.

"He thinks he knows why you… you and the boy… why you…"

"Yes Severus?," said Voldemort, his impatience obvious under his silky voice.

"It was the blood my Lord, Potter's blood in the ritual it…"

The man made a strange gulping sound before continuing.

"The blood contained Lily Potter's love for… for him."

"Ah, I see." His voice sounded steady but dangerous, like the calm before a storm.

"I took blood containing _love _into myself and now I can _feel," _The emphasis on those two words dripped with disgust "and what else did Dumbledore have to say about this?"

"He said that it might keep the boy alive, that you might…" He swallowed.

"Go on."

"…Care for him."

"Did he now? And do you agree with him Severus?"

"My Lord, I…"

Voldemort sent a silent crucio at him, more out of pent up anger than as a punishment.

"Well you can tell Dumbledore, that the boy dies tonight," he hissed furiously before disapparating, leaving Snape shocked and panting on the ground.

* * *

"Omniscient as ever Dumbledore," growled Voldemort under his breath as he strode through the forest back to the manor. His blood was boiling in anticipation, urging him onwards. In less than an hour, Dumbledore would be the only thing left standing between him and his goal. Or perhaps he would make it take a little longer than that… He had made an impulsive decision but that did not mean he would also act impulsively. He wanted time to play with the boy, time to make him scream. Only when Harry begged for death would he finally grant it. 'And who knows,' thought Voldemort with a malicious satisfaction, 'the way I've treated him, perhaps that will take some time.'

He was now gliding up the front steps, filled with that cool sense of purpose that always preceded a kill. He had felt it thirteen years ago the same as he did now, but tonight would be different, this time there was nothing to stop him succeeding. He paused momentarily outside Harry's door to draw his wand and to savour the euphoric exhilaration pulsing through him. It was time.

It was the same boy… the same sound of the wind… the same thrilling excitement…

But the crying was different. When he had last looked into those bright green eyes, the child had begun to wail loudly for his parents. Tonight it was silent.

Voldemort hadn't known until he was almost upon him.

Harry had not heard him come in and continued to stare out of the window, though it was too dark to see anything through it.

Voldemort raised his wand and, hearing the gentle rustle of his robes, Harry turned his bloodshot eyes to face him. He gave a strangled gasp, his eyes moving from Voldemort's face down to the wand pointing at his chest. Releasing a great, shuddering sob, he turned back to the window.

The pain too, was different, like someone was trying to strangle him from the inside, like a thousand fists were curled around his organs, constricting him, robbing him of his breath. What was it about tears? Harry's tears? That night it had reminded him of the orphanage, aggravated him, made him want to end it faster, but now…

Harry saw Voldemort's reflection lower his wand.

"What's wrong?" His voice was a hoarse whisper, he had not been expecting this.

But Harry wouldn't answer him. Where Voldemort found it hard to speak, Harry seemed to be completely unable to.

He should have known… should have felt this…. He had allowed his own hotheadedness to dominate his mind, become blind to Harry's pain. Had he known before seeing him he could have prepared himself, but to be caught off guard like this… They came in thick and fast now, tugging agonisingly at his chest, the emotions harassing him mercilessly. He was pleased to find though, that lowering his wand had made breathing a little easier.

Beginning to understand, Voldemort slowly placed his wand on the windowseat beside Harry and stepped back so that it was out of his reach. His insides stopped twisting at once, he felt lighter, like some enormous weight had been lifted from him.

"Has something happened?" His voice was stronger now, but it was far from steady. This was unfamiliar territory, he had never felt like this before and he hoped he never would again.

Sighing heavily, he slipped unhindered into Harry's thoughts. It hurt, but he had to know why. It was not long before he returned with his answer.

"The 1st of September?" His voice was barely more than a whisper but he knew from Harry's quaking shoulders that he was right.

He couldn't help but notice how this day held the same importance for Harry as it had done for him. To spend all Summer with people who didn't want you, unable to use magic… It was torture. And then along came 1st September and with it, freedom. Now all Harry's classmates with their wonderfully normal lives would be asleep in their dormitories, full from the start of term feast and he, Harry, was here, trapped and awaiting his death in the home of Lord Voldemort.

Harry looked over at Voldemort's wand.

"I thought that's why you chose today."

The pain… it was like someone was tying the muscles in his chests into hundreds of excruciating knots and he knew then, this was guilt. Harry's words made him _feel evil_, and not in a glorious, invincible way but in one that made him feel ashamed, and filled his heart with regret.

"You miss them… your friends."

"WHY DO YOU CARE?" Harry yelled at him through his tears, standing to face Voldemort, quivering with adrenaline. He didn't care what happened to him now. He waited for Voldemort's raised eyebrow and the amused: 'I don't.'

"It doesn't matter why."

Harry's furious expression was instantly replaced with one of shock, that wasn't what he had expected. It quickly reverted back however as Voldemort began to move closer to him. He refused to let the man play with him, toy with his emotions, confuse him. He'd had enough. He panicked, feeling thin, robed arms close around him.

"GET OFF ME!"

But the arms only gripped tighter. He began pounding his fists hard against Voldemort's chest, all the while desperately trying to pull away from his embrace.

"FIGHT BACK! YOU BASTARD, FIGHT BACK!"

But Voldemort remained quite calm, holding the struggling boy tightly against him, reducing the fire in his chest to a dull but nonetheless significant ache. Though, that might have been due more to Harry's fists than his tears.

"I know what you're trying to do Harry and I won't do it."

Harry struck him with all the strength he could muster, wanting the man to pay for his infuriating calmness and his perceptive insight, but Voldemort pinned both his arms firmly to his sides, holding Harry out in front of him. He looked into weary, bloodshot eyes and Harry couldn't help but look right back.

"I won't do it."

Harry stilled in resignation, slumping back against Voldemort's chest, trying to steady his breathing.

Voldemort was a little startled to find Harry back in his arms but quickly relaxed into it. Harry, however was still tense, his own arms drawn up protectively in front him, pressed between them as Voldemort held him.

"_Relax," _Voldemort hissed, running his long fingers soothingly through Harry's soft, dark hair.

Harry felt his body obey the command before his mind had even had time to process it, as if he were under some spell. He knew this was wrong, knew he shouldn't be letting it happen, but right now, he either needed a way out or a way to feel better, and only one of those was on offer. He allowed all the pain, all the rage and the questions to leave him, making way for fatigue and numbness. His head ached from crying and he felt as though he was having to rely on Voldemort's hold to keep him standing.

It was Voldemort who pulled away first.

"You need to rest."

Harry nodded and allowed Voldemort to steer him over to the bed, loathing himself at the unease he felt when the man turned to leave.

"Sleep well Harry."

And then he was gone.

**A/N The following lyrics weren't used to help me write this but I heard this song and it reminded me of this chapter. It's a good song anyway, you should give it a listen. '…' means that I missed out some irrelevant lyrics.**

"_Sure hate to see you looking so sad, Delicate man it needn't be that bad,You sit with me and I will listen, You'll feel much better when you're open… You stand tall and you be strong, You have ruthless compassion For yourself and for everyone …I know you've every right to feel grief, You've not had anything that you need, But you put your head on my shoulder"_

_- Sinead O'Connor - Til I Whisper You Something_

**As for the title, it's a ref to the song 'Here Comes The Rain Again' by Eurythmics and a play on the real HP chapter: The Forest Again. The 'rain' I suppose, can be thought of as Harry's tears and 'again' refers to the night Voldy first tried to kill him and the day he first felt pity.**

"_Here comes the rain again, falling on my head like a memory, falling on my head like a new emotion." - Eurythmics_

**I hope y'all don't hate this for being too OOC but hey, I did warn you at the beginning ;) The 2****nd**** version had an extra scene involving hot chocolate but it was way too OOC so I wrote this without it. Third time lucky? Sorry for the really long A/Ns, tell me what you think!**


	14. Chapter 13  Fiery Passion

**DISCLAIMER: Anything you recognise belongs to J.K. Rowling, not me. I do not own Harry Potter. *sob**

**WARNING: Slash, OOCness, definitely limes and possibly lemons, torture, abuse, self-harm.**

**A/N: This is my first fanfic so please review and let me know what you think =)**

**Thanks to all my lovely reviewers, can't believe I'm nearly at 100 reviews, keep 'em coming =)**

**Sorry it took so long guys :S**

"Normal Speech"

'Thoughts'

"_Parseltongue"_

_Emphasis_

It was not a restful night. It had taken Harry a good couple of hours to fall asleep and before he knew it he was awake again. He groaned and sat up in bed, staring out into the darkness.

* * *

Voldemort had been pacing to and fro in his own room, unable to switch off the noise in his mind. Guilt…fondness… It was making him feel ill. The boy had grown on him in the short time they had not been intent on killing each other. At first he'd thought it was just fascination… Harry was unlike anyone he'd ever encountered. But he was no longer able to ignore the way he always left Harry's room with a smile on his face or how he would look forward to waking him each morning. And holding him… There was just something about the boy… but what on Earth was it? What was it that had him so enthralled? Was it physical? He wasn't unattractive, though a little scrawny. But it felt like more than that…

Voldemort sighed heavily. Harry had been through so much, enough to make him want to take his own life, and it was all his fault. Voldemort felt awful, but he knew that his emotions were _nothing_ compared to Harry's, and he found his own regret sending him to check in on the boy.

He wasn't surprised to find Harry awake, not with the night they'd had.

"Can't sleep?"

Harry shook his head and Voldemort sat down beside him on the bed and resumed the stroking of his hair, watching the boy's eyes flit around uncertainly, obviously feeling too awkward to look at him.

"Lie down," Voldemort ordered, and Harry obeyed, closing his eyes as he did so.

Now that he couldn't see Voldemort, Harry felt far braver and decided to try again for some answers.

"Why are you being nice to me?"

"I'm always nice to you Harry."

"Stop avoiding my questions."

"But I don't have any answers."

"So do you still hate me?"

"With a fiery passion," Voldemort assured him, but Harry could hear that he was smiling as he said it, "Now go to sleep."

And eventually, with the help of the soothing fingers running through his unruly hair, he did just that.

_Everything was cold, a woman was screaming, everywhere was foggy and dark. Then Harry saw them…dementors, soaring after him, their long, torn cloaks billowing out behind them. Harry tried to run but his legs were chained, they were gaining on him, they were so close he could see their grey, decaying faces… skeletal hands were reaching out towards him…_

"Harry?"

He sat bolt upright, gasping for breath, to find Voldemort still beside him.

"What… what…"

"It was just a dream."

Harry took a couple of minutes to catch his breath before settling back down to sleep.

_There were shouts and sparks everywhere, the air was thick with smoke, why were there so many people? Harry fought his way closer to the nearest pair of duellers, trying to hear what they were saying._

"_It was you Ron! I know it! You bring Harry back!"_

"_No it wasn't! What… Hermione, please..."_

_Harry knew what was going to happen just moments before it did, he was running to get to Ron, to help him, but his feet didn't want to obey him, it was like he was running through treacle…_

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

"_NOOOOO!"_

"Harry?"

Voldemort immediately tensed as Harry threw his arms around him, his breathing heavy once more.

"Are you alright?"

"It wasn't him! It wasn't him!"

"Alright! Alright! It wasn't him," Voldemort said, alarmed, "but I think you were dreaming again."

Harry calmed down enough to feel slightly embarrassed and pulled away from Voldemort somewhat reluctantly.

"Sorry."

"Don't be."

In truth, Voldemort couldn't help but be a little pleased that Harry no longer had any problems hugging him, or at least didn't find him quite so repulsive anymore. He would never admit it, but to have that small, fragile and surprisingly warm body clinging to him… it felt kind of nice.

Voldemort stroked Harry back to sleep and when an hour passed without him waking, decided it was safe to leave him.

* * *

Harry was disappointed to find himself alone the next time he woke. He couldn't remember what he'd been dreaming about but he had woken in a cold sweat and without Voldemort there he couldn't calm down again. It was no use, he was going to have to accept that he wasn't going to get any sleep.

He trudged wearily over to the window and drew back the curtain. Judging by the pale sunlight and faint birdsong, it was only just dawn. Harry sighed heavily, glancing hopefully at his bedroom door. Was it possible that there were no barriers there? But that foolish… of course there would be.

As he showered, Harry tried desperately to remember what he'd been dreaming about that had caused him to wake sweating and shivering, but to no avail.

Keen for some distraction from his thoughts, Harry's eyes flicked back to his bedroom door. Well, it was worth a try. His bare feet padded timidly over to the door, he tried it and it opened silently. He walked straight out of his room and immediately came to a halt, expecting a curse, a shout, an alarm, something… but the only sound was his own excited breathing.

Once at the kitchen, Harry pushed open the old door noiselessly and stepped outside.

* * *

Voldemort's spell had been triggered; Harry must have left his room. He raised his head from the desk where he had fallen asleep and wearily went in search of Harry. A few minutes later a second alarm sounded, indicating that the boy had left the house. Surely he wasn't foolish enough to try to escape?

When he reached the door however he immediately spotted Harry resting under a large cedar tree by the stream.

* * *

Harry felt, rather than heard, Voldemort approaching but gave no indication that he knew the man was there, keeping his eyes firmly on the glistening water. He waited for Voldemort to speak, to question him about all the things he didn't want to talk about. He was startled when instead, Voldemort sat beside him on the dewy grass and leant back into the trunk of the tree. They sat together like that for awhile in silence, just watching the morning arrive.

"I suppose it would be foolish me asking if you're alright?"

Harry nodded but he had smiled a little, albeit grimly, and that made Voldemort feel marginally better.

"How did you find me?"

Voldemort raised a non-existent eyebrow.

"You honestly think I have nothing in place to tell me when you decide to go walkabout?"

"I wasn't running away," said Harry dully, "I just couldn't sleep."

Voldemort watched curiously as Harry stroked his fingertips lightly over each of the faint scars on his arms, his expression unreadable.

"I could probably find a way to get rid of those for you if you like."

Harry turned and saw Voldemort watching him.

"Thanks, but I think I like them, they're part of me now."

Voldemort eyed him thoughtfully for a moment before rising.

"Come, you're cold."

He was, it was still only early morning and it was chilly in the shade of the trees, especially for one so thin.

Harry rose reluctantly and allowed the gentle hand on his shoulder to steer him back inside.

It was so frustrating. He just wasn't used to handling situations like this. Caring about someone, looking after them… it was so new, so foreign. He'd thought Harry would be alright this morning but he was clearly still troubled. Had he done something wrong? Had he not been comforting enough? What could he do to make Harry's pain go away, to make _his _pain go away? He looked over at Harry and to his dismay saw that the boy's eyes were already glistening with tears again.

"Harry…"

Ignoring Harry's gasp of surprise, he pulled the boy in instinctively for a hug.

The way Voldemort's touch seemed to sooth him never failed to shock (and disturb) Harry. His shoulder still tingled from the hand that had rested there only moments ago but this… this was even better. He gave up trying to hate himself for it and melted into Voldemort's arms, allowing himself to enjoy it.

_It doesn't matter why. _Had he meant it? Did he care? It was impossible… Voldemort hated him… didn't he? Though, the hugs seemed to suggest otherwise…

He tried not to look too disappointed when Voldemort pulled away.

"Let's get you warmed up, yes?"

"Ok," mumbled Harry, wiping his eyes desperately with the backs of his hands and hating himself for his weakness. He didn't feel fifteen, he felt about five, and this time he couldn't blame Voldemort for that. It was his fault for finding solace in his enemy's whispers and strokes, he needed support, relief, and wasn't man enough to refuse it.

Not that the situation didn't bother him; it did. On top of his imprisonment, his exhaustion, his depression, missing his friends and fearing for his life, he now had to deal with the confusion of having Voldemort being nice to him. He could have handled torture, abuse, even death, but the man's kindness was just another complication for him to try to deal with. Did Voldemort get a kick out of seeing Harry so dependent on him? Was this just a more twisted and complex form of torture that Voldemort had devised to unhinge him? He almost wanted to believe that that was the answer; it was by far the simplest explanation. The other was too farfetched to comprehend and yet, something in Voldemort's voice, in his touch, was forcing Harry to consider the possibility that maybe, just maybe, Voldemort really did care about him.

'If he cared about me I wouldn't be here.' Harry told himself forcefully and tried to be interested in the cereal Voldemort pushed in front of him.

Voldemort could feel the boy's agonising confusion as he ate and his stomach knotted painfully, he knew he was to blame. He knew that by showing Harry kindness he was only going to create the perfect conditions for the Stockholm syndrome to fully take hold but the alternative… He was probably being selfish, afraid of what he'd feel if he wasn't good to Harry but wasn't this better than treating him the way he always had? Than torturing him? He didn't know anymore, emotions were too confusing for him to keep control of. He could no longer find it in himself to be cruel to Harry. It was a struggle every day, every hour, not to release him. At times he so desperately wanted to that only telling himself he'd put Harry at risk held him back. If he released Harry now and someone found out what was going on then they could use Harry as a weapon against him. What if someone threatened to hurt Harry to get him to agree to something? The very thought made his blood boil. If he thought Harry could slip back into the world unnoticed then he probably would let the boy go but… what would the wizarding world say about him if he let Harry live? And a small part of him still questioned whether he wanted to, giving up his mission to kill the Boy Who Lived would be like giving up a part of himself, could he really forsake so much of his identity for the good of someone else?

To care for another… it brought with it a whole host of other complications. It meant trusting them, opening yourself up to the possibility of so much pain if anything were to happen to them… When he was away from Harry it was easy to tell himself that it wasn't worth all that, but when he was with him…

He sighed inwardly, not wanting Harry to notice his distress. What must the boy think of him? And, not for the first time, he found himself on the verge of telling Harry everything. It would be such a burden off both their shoulders… Could he really keep Harry here, alive and well, without him asking questions? For now, it seemed like that was his only option.

"Wh… what's going on…"

Voldemort thought for a horrible moment that they were about to have the very conversation he'd just decided to avoid, until Harry continued,

"…outside, you know… in the world?"

Voldemort had to fight to keep the large sigh of relief from escaping him. This he could deal with. Harry felt isolated, that was to be expected.

"There have been violent goblin riots in London, Quality Quidditch Supplies have had to recall thousands of faulty brooms…. Hmmm what else? House prices in Hogsmeade are at an all time high and the Holyhead Harpies beat the Chudley Cannons two-hundred and thirty to ten last Sunday."

"That's it?"

"That's all I can remember," Voldemort lied.

Harry sighed. He knew Voldemort wasn't being honest with him, not that he had expected him to be, but he couldn't help but wonder what the papers were saying about him. Did they even know he was missing? Was Fudge _still _denying Voldemort's return?

Harry pushed his largely untouched bowl of cereal away from him.

"I'm not hungry."

"Harry please, you need to…"

"I said I'm not hungry ok?" Harry snapped.

"You're going to eat that or you're going back on the potions." His voice was stern, he didn't want to argue with Harry but he wasn't going to let him slip back into old habits either.

Harry stood, white-hot anger licking his insides, making him shake with rage.

"STOP TREATING ME LIKE A CHILD! YOU CAN'T MAKE ME…"

"I _can_ and I _will _make you do whatever I wish," Voldemort interrupted angrily, rising also, "and I will stop treating you like a child when you stop acting like one."

"WELL YOU STOP ACTING LIKE YOU'RE MY FUCKING PARENT THEN! I DON'T NEED LOOKING AFTER, I CAN TAKE CARE OF MYSELF, I ALWAYS HAVE!"

"That's what this is about isn't it?" Voldemort retorted heatedly, "You can't stand the idea of letting anyone else help you."

"WELL WHO'S FAULT IS THAT?"

He couldn't let Harry's words get to him, he had to stay calm.

"This isn't about them Harry, this is about you."

"IT'S ALWAYS BEEN ABOUT ME, DIDN'T STOP YOU KILLING THEM THOUGH DID IT?"

"This is different…" Voldemort began feebly.

"HOW? HOW IS THIS ANY DIFFERENT…"

"BECAUSE I DON'T WANT YOU TO DIE!"

Harry stared, shocked, almost forgetting his anger. The room was filled with the sound of their ragged breathing and they stood glaring furiously at each other for a moment before Voldemort turned and stormed out of the room leaving a speechless Harry to gape at his back.

* * *

It took Harry a good half an hour to find Voldemort's room, which turned out to only be a short way down from his own. He could tell it was his from the faint hissing sounds he could hear within. Harry couldn't hear clearly enough to make out what Voldemort was saying but could tell he was speaking to someone in Parseltongue, and that someone else was talking back. So they weren't alone… Harry decided to try his luck with the door; after all, he'd been able to open his.

The sight was slightly disturbing to behold. The room was gloomy and unwelcoming despite its luxuriousness, the air felt different, heavy in Harry's lungs. But it was not the room that perturbed him the most. It was the man seated at a desk in the far corner of the room. He had his back to Harry and was holding his head in his hands despairingly while a long, green snake draped itself over his shoulders, whispering soothingly to him. Harry couldn't help but pity him slightly; their argument had clearly distressed him. His breath caught in his throat and he was starting to wish he had stayed downstairs in the kitchen. Making matters worse was that Voldemort seemed not to have noticed his presence, leaving him with an impossible decision. Should he turn and try to leave without being noticed, or should he stay to…make amends?

He thought he was going to get away with his escape when his knee clicked loudly causing several things to happen at once. Voldemort was on his feet, his wand pointing straight at Harry's chest, his chair thrown violently aside and Harry heard the door slam shut, trapping him in.

His heart immediately began pounding at the sight of Voldemort's wand, the man was clearly furious at being sneaked up on. As soon as Voldemort realised it was Harry, he lowered his wand. His face however, remained livid.

"_How did you get in here?"_ He hissed.

"_d…door,"_ stuttered Harry.

"_Don't lie to me!" _Voldemort strode over to Harry and pushed him roughly against the door. "_My prisoners cannot just enter my room freely!"_

"_I'm not your prisoner," _Harry choked, struggling to regain his breath owing to the strong, cold hand that gripped his throat. He knew that Voldemort was remembering their conversation from a month ago and was surprised when, on doing so himself, he realised that the words about to leave his mouth were true.

"_I…I want to be here."_

Voldemort was working very hard to keep his shock from showing on his face.

"_Why?" _ It was the only word he felt able to say.

Harry was searching his mind desperately for an answer that wouldn't sound embarrassingly pathetic, but he searched in vain, the answer was painfully obvious.

"_I… I like being here with you."_

He had suspected it yes, but to hear the boy speak those words… Someone liked him, enjoyed his company…. Well, someone besides Nagini. He was lost for words. Releasing Harry, he turned away, frowning hard and looking rather haggard. Harry suddenly felt the need to explain how grateful he was, and couldn't help but feel ashamed of how bratty he'd been.

"I… I didn't mean to..."

"I know."

They stood in awkward silence for what felt like an eternity before Voldemort spoke again, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"I meant what I said."

"I know."

More silence.

"Shall we try breakfast again?"

"Ok."

Review? Please?

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	15. Chapter 14 Caught RedHanded

**DISCLAIMER: Anything you recognise belongs to J.K. Rowling, not me. I do not own Harry Potter. *sob****. Oh and there's a line in this chapter that belongs to the King's Speech, not me =p**

**WARNING: Slash, OOCness, definitely limes and possibly lemons, torture, abuse, self-harm.**

**A/N: This is my first fanfic so please review and let me know what you think =)**

**Sorry it's been so long. I have some of the usual excuses involving work and exams but I have also been getting to know my characters. I felt like I knew my Voldemort and my Dumbledore really well but not my Harry or my Snape. I kept avoiding writing in Harry's POV but that means missing out on a lot of important stuff. Also, I did write a very important scene that will be coming up soon, maybe in the next chapter, so it's not like I totally neglected my readers.**

**Also, layout for this chapter: Fluff, Angst, Fluff, Angst, Fluff etc. etc. etc.**** That's just the way it is at the mo.**

"Harry?"

Voldemort was immensely relieved to be home, unsuccessful missions had a way of unsettling him; he wasn't used to failing. Still, his bitterness and resentment was somewhat quieted by the sight of Harry's small form resting in a chair by the fire, the blanket over his shoulders barley visible under the twisted coils of Nagini, who appeared to be dozing on his chest. Voldemort allowed an increasingly familiar smile to grace his worn features, but when Harry did not respond and continued to stare down at his book, he felt the sense of foreboding that usually preceded an argument.

"Going to kill me now?" he asked dryly.

Slightly taken aback, Voldemort moved over to kneel before Harry, setting the book down and taking the small hands in his own before looking up into cold, green eyes. Voldemort was startled by the ferocity of the gaze and struggled for what to say, the last thing he wanted to do after tonight was argue with Harry. Again.

"Waiting for a Dark Lord to apologise, one can wait rather a long time."

Harry's face remained impassive, causing Voldemort to sigh deeply.

"I can't take back the things I've done Harry."

"Do you even want to?" His eyes were hard, his jaw set and his voice was noticeably laced with accusation.

"Of course I do."

It was only a half-lie. He _did _want to take back the things he'd done to Harry but truthfully, he couldn't care less about any of the countless others he'd hurt. But Harry only rolled his eyes, causing Voldemort's temper to flare. He was still struggling to come to terms with his emotions and to have Harry belittle them…

"Harry, I don't know what you want me to do…"

"I want you to make up your mind!" exclaimed Harry, rising so quickly from his chair that he nearly dislodged a startled Nagini from his shoulders, causing her to slither away from him, hissing angrily. "You're always being nice to me, acting like you care and then you go about killing people like everything's normal!"

"I didn't…" but he faltered when Harry raised his hand; a hand smeared with blood from where Voldemort had cradled it in his own.

"Don't lie to me."

Voldemort looked down at his hands, still sticky with blood, and finally understood why Harry was looking at him so accusingly.

"Who are you?"

"I'm not who you think I am, not anymore, Harry please listen…"

"No you listen! Y…you can't just come home and t…touch me with hands that have killed innocent people! You're sick!"

Voldemort sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed staring into his palms.

"I didn't kill anyone; and this person isn't innocent, he's not even a person really."

Voldemort watched the comprehension dawn on Harry's face, noticed his frown fade and his eyes soften slightly, flickering searchingly over Voldemort's body.

"You're hurt?" His voice was barely more than a whisper as regret began to consume him. Voldemort had been injured and he'd just…

"I'm sorry, I didn't… I just, when you were gone it reminded me and, I just thought that…"

"That I'd want to kill you. Is that unreasonable?"

"Well…"

"No,"

Gesturing for Harry to sit beside him, Voldemort drew out his wand and began silently siphoning off the dried blood.

"I have tried to kill you on five separate occasions, the last not one week ago, and if you insist on blaming yourself for everything then I've half a mind to try again." He smiled to show Harry that he was joking and was relieved when Harry smiled mischievously back.

"As if you'd actually manage to kill me anyway."

Voldemort hissed in annoyance and Harry only just ducked the swipe aimed at his head, laughing as he rolled into the middle of the bed out of harm's way.

Shaking his head, Voldemort smiled fondly at the boy who had somehow come to mean so much to him.

"I _could_ kill you if I so desired," he assured him but Harry just raised his eyebrows in a doubtful expression.

Looking up at him at that moment, Harry realised that he cared for Voldemort. Not in the usual sense admittedly, but there was something there… Whether it was simply overwhelming gratitude or actual affection Harry wasn't sure but he liked the man's company, needed it even. It was thanks to Voldemort that Harry was still alive; he smiled slightly at the irony of that realisation. Could this be the same Voldemort who killed his parents? Was this man a sadistic murderer? No. He was kind, understanding… he was how Harry had always imagined a father would be, except occasionally much more terrifying. But that was ok. Things were ok.

Harry was brought sharply out of his musings by Voldemort leaning over and planting a soft kiss on his forehead, just a little to the left of his scar, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Goodnight Harry."

"Night."

The door closed with a soft click and Harry tentatively raised a hand to his forehead, a small smile lighting his face as he drifted into dreams.

* * *

"I'll make a deal with you."

Harry looked suspiciously over at Voldemort who was smirking knowingly back at him from the other side of the table.

"I will allow you to ask your question if you stop pushing that around your plate and actually eat some of it".

Sighing, Harry glanced down at his breakfast and wished, not for the first time, that Voldemort couldn't read him so well. He _did _have a question about the previous night but he was a little scared to risk any more conflict. However, he knew he was fighting a loosing battle as far as food was concerned, his constant assurances that he wasn't hungry or that he'd eat later continually went unheard.

Harry forced down a mouthful of toast and looked back to the Dark Lord.

"Happy now?"

"Actually no."

Harry shot him an exasperated look and scooped some egg on to his fork and ate that too.

"Now?"

Voldemort sighed. 'This could go on a while.'

"All of it."

There was a loud clatter as Harry's fork dropped onto his plate.

"That's not fair!"

"Life isn't fair."

Harry glared at him. 'As if I didn't already know that.'

"Come now Harry, I'm the Dark Lord, you must know I don't do things by halves?"

And so Harry reluctantly finished his breakfast and Voldemort raised his eyebrows expectantly, waiting for the question.

"I was just wondering… if you didn't go out to kill someone last night, where did you go?"

Voldemort eyed him curiously for a moment before replying, obviously deciding how to much to convey.

"I went to get something."

"And?"

"It was better protected than I had anticipated."

"What was it?" Harry asked, his curiosity successfully aroused.

"I wanted the prophecy; the one about us," he added needlessly, "It has more information about our… connection that could prove usef… interesting."

"There's more?" Harry's eyes were wide and he was so intrigued that he ignored Voldemort's quick change of wording.

Voldemort nodded, his face home to an expression Harry couldn't quite work out.

"It could say anything…" Harry whispered, more to himself than to Voldemort. How many more things were there about his own life that he didn't know? _That no one had told him, _he corrected himself. Oughtn't Dumbledore to have told him all this? Or was there something there that he didn't want Harry to find out? But what could be so terrible that Dumbledore would have kept it from him?

"Where did you go looking for it?"

"Every prophecy ever made is recorded somewhere in the Department of Mysteries.

Harry eyebrows were now so high on his face that they were almost invisible beneath his hair.

"You broke into the Ministry?"

"Yes, though admittedly not very successfully. It seems that ever since your… absence, they have begun to accept my return and have prepared more than adequately for any potential attacks."

So they did know he was missing. And they knew Voldemort was back… they believed him, finally. Though, it was far, far too late. The most frustrating thing was that he would have been more than happy to have foiled Voldemort's plans a few months ago but now, to see him hurt… And it wasn't even an attack really, Voldemort had just wanted something, something that surely belonged to him, to them, anyway? He so desperately wanted to know what the prophecy said…

""What happened?"

"Aurors," Voldemort muttered darkly, his voice filled with loathing.

"Oh." Processing all that he'd just been told was making it rather difficult for Harry to form words. "Are you going to go back?"

"I permitted you one question, I have now answered seven. We can discuss this further later."

"You're going out again?"

"When taking over the world, it helps to actually live in it from time to time."

There was a long pause.

"Do you…" Voldemort cleared his throat, evidently embarrassed, "Do you need anything? While I'm out?"

"Er…" Harry looked at him with a confused expression.

Voldemort sighed.

"Clothes? Food? Books?"

Comprehension dawned on Harry's face, Voldemort was asking if he wanted him to buy him anything. Knowing how humiliating it must have been for him to ask, Harry shook his head and fought off the smile threatening to plaster itself across his face.

"No thanks, it's cool."

Voldemort nodded, greatly relieved that Harry hadn't laughed at him. However, he had hoped the boy would ask for something, affection was most easily expressed through gifts, wasn't that what people did when they wanted to show someone they cared?

Harry watched the Dark Lord's tall figure sweep majestically out of the room, leaving him alone again. He knew he could have asked for anything and Voldemort would have got it for him but honestly, he didn't need anything. He had more here than he'd ever had in his life. A huge house, a huge garden, his own room, a comfy bed, company, safety… the list went on. He owed the man so much.

* * *

It was early evening when Voldemort returned to find Harry lying in the long grass by the stream, a hand slowly caressing the head of the large snake that was draped across his chest. Nagini had obviously found it in herself to forgive him. The sight brought a small smile to Voldemort's face.

"_Stealing my pet I see?"_

"_Am not_," replied Harry and Nagini in unison.

Harry shot Nagini a mock-glare, trying and failing to look offended at the implication that he was Voldemort's pet.

Chuckling softly, Voldemort took a seat beside Harry and felt Nagini wind herself around him, welcoming him home, but instead a raising a hand to pet her, he lowered one into Harry hair and began carding his long fingers through it, marvelling at it's softness.

"It's getting too long," Harry said casually, closing his eyes and enjoying the feeling of cold fingertips brushing against the nape of his neck. It felt so good.

"No it's not."

A few minutes passed in silence. Voldemort watched Harry intently as the boy leaned into his touch and closed his eyes in bliss. What was this? What were they to one another? He desperately wanted to move his hand to Harry's neck, to feel if his skin was as soft as his hair and then maybe down to his chest to feel the warmth of his body through his black muggle t-shirt. Did this mean he was attracted to him? He'd kissed him last night before he'd even had time to think about it but what did that mean? And what would it feel like to kiss him in other places? He _had _to stop thinking like this, even if he was attracted to Harry, he was too old. And Harry would never feel the same. And their feelings were only symptoms anyway. It could never happen. Perhaps it would have been easier to tell himself all this if Harry wasn't responding so beautifully to his touch, craning his neck and smiling all the while.

"So what evil plans did you carry out today?"

"Absolutely none."

"Good."

"Did you?"

"No. But I did read in that book you gave me that they never used to have snitches in Quidditch, that it originated from when Snidget hunting was really popular and then this guy Barberus or something…."

Voldemort smiled hearing Harry go on about Quidditch, this was more the Harry he'd expected from the beginning. The fact that Harry knew that the game was of absolutely no interest to Voldemort didn't seem to faze him at all and Voldemort was beginning to wonder if he'd ever stop nattering on about different brooms, foreign pitches and gruesome injuries.

"Perhaps instead of coming after you I should have just let you carry on playing Quidditch?"

"Nah, people hardly ever die. Anymore. But apparently all seven hundred fouls were committed in the World Cup in 1473, I didn't even know there were seven hundred ways to foul, and I've played against Slytherins loads of times."

"Well therein lays the answer. I can guarantee that if you'd played _with _the Slytherins that would have been the first thing you learnt."

Harry smiled and silence reined once more.

"What do you want to eat tonight?"

Harry looked slightly startled by the question.

"Um, anything, I don't mind."

"Ok let me rephrase that, what can I get you that you'll actually want to eat to save me going all murderous on you. Again."

"To be honest I'm really not that…"

"I don't care if you're hungry or not. Look at you."

He gestured to Harry's chest where his top still dipped noticeably below his ribs.

"I've always been thin. And what about you? You're thin. And I've never seen you eat anything."

"You will die without food. I won't. And I do eat, when I remember."

"So you pick something and you can eat too, I hate having you stare at me, it puts me off even more."

And so it was that the two of them ended up sharing a veritable feast. The smells of all the wonderful food made Harry feel genuinely hungry and he managed a perfectly normal sized meal which seemed to please Voldemort.

"Where do you get all this? McGonagall always said you can't magic food out of nothing, it's an exception to some rule by Gomp or Gump or something."

"It's Gamp's law, and I didn't magic it out of nothing, I summoned it."

"You what? So someone could just be sitting down to a meal and suddenly their roast dinner just flies off? Does the International Statute of Secrecy mean nothing to you?"

Voldemort's expression darkened.

"No Harry, no it really doesn't"

Harry immediately regretted his words. Being forced into secrecy by Muggles was what Voldemort hated, probably more than anything else in the world now that he didn't hate Harry.

"Me neither really. Did you hear about when I flew a car to Hogwarts from London?"

It worked. Voldemort's eyes softened and he smiled at Harry.

"Oh yes, I heard. The Hogwarts express just isn't good enough for the Boy Who Lived."

Harry flicked Voldemort's arm playfully.

"You know it wasn't like that. I mean, even Lord Voldemort got the Hogwarts Express and he's a much more powerful wizard than me."

"Finally we agree on something."

It was sort of amazing how they were getting on. Harry wondered what people would say if they could see them now, after all, everyone must have assumed that he was being tortured or something, but here they were sharing a meal and laughing together. It was totally bizarre; but it didn't feel it. Harry heard Voldemort sigh deeply and turned to him, immediately concerned.

"What's wrong?"

Voldemort smiled weakly back at him.

"You're not even remotely scared of me any more are you?"

Harry laughed. No. He was not the least bit afraid. He didn't have to be afraid of anything anymore. He had Voldemort.

"Sure I am. I mean earlier when you were stroking my hair, that was really terrifying."

He ducked as Voldemort aimed a playful swipe at his head.

This was amazing. Voldemort had never enjoyed someone's company before, never even knew he wanted to, but hearing Harry's laugh made him feel a very human kind of warmth in his chest that he didn't want to push away. It was almost worth the thirteen years of near-death experience for Harry not to have died that fateful night. Harry was showing him a life he could never have had otherwise, would never have sought. He would have never felt… well, whatever it was he felt now.

The little niggling voice in the back of his head muttering 'symptoms, symptoms, they're only symptoms,' seemed to get more distant by the minute. Why shouldn't he have this? He had heard it said that everyone deserved a chance at a normal life, didn't that include him? And Harry too? Could this… thing ever work?

"Are you going out again tomorrow?"

"Yes. Did you think of something you wanted?"

"No, no I just wondered if you'd be here or not."

Was that Harry's way of saying he wanted to spend more time together?

"But I won't be leaving here for a while after that." Seeing Harry perk up slightly he added, "Promise," and smiled knowingly at Harry who knew he'd been read perfectly by Voldemort. Again.

**Review? Please?**

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	16. Chapter 15  Across Yer Ocean

**DISCLAIMER: Anything you recognise belongs to J.K. Rowling, not me. I do not own Harry Potter. *sob****. **

**WARNING: Slash, OOCness, definitely limes and possibly lemons, torture, abuse, self-harm.**

**A/N: This is my first fanfic so please review and let me know what you think =)**

**This one's a ****little bit shorter than the last but I hope you like it.**

"_I feel that it's all too real__, on a wave of emotion sending ships across yer ocean, and I've lost all my reasons when it's you I can believe in." – Mercury Rev_

"Normal Speech"

_'Thoughts'_

"_Parseltongue"_

_Emphasis_

Harry was bored. Voldemort had only been gone for a few hours and already he was desperately willing him to return. He was walking back up the steep stairs to his room following a lonely breakfast when Harry noticed a door slightly ajar on a floor he had not visited before. Instantly curious, he decided to explore.

The door creaked as he pushed it open, revealing a room so decrepit that Harry wondered if it was safe to enter. His Gryffindor side taking hold, he moved soundlessly into the room. It was one of the only rooms with a window that Harry had come across in the whole house. By its light Harry could see a grand piano in one corner, it's shine marred by dust and it's once dark wood faded on one side where the light from the window reached it. In another was an old Victorian-style loveseat, its original colour now indiscernible. As he looked further around the room, Harry's eyes were drawn to a peeling portrait on the far wall above the fireplace.

Dark eyes looked arrogantly down at Harry, contrasting sharply to the pale face which in turn was framed by neat dark hair. Tall, handsome and proud, the man in the painting had undoubtedly been rather wealthy. Harry drew nearer, clambering over toppled pieces of furniture until he could read the scratchy lettering in the bottom left hand corner of the canvas:

_Thomas Alexander Riddle, 1923_

"Voldemort's father…" whispered Harry to the empty room, it had to be. He ran his fingers lightly over the sloping letters, coating them in dust. The portrait so closely resembled the teenage Voldemort that Harry had met in the Chamber of Secrets that he couldn't help but feel a little unnerved. This must be the old Riddle house…but it looked so different from how he remembered it from his dreams. Harry shivered when remembering what had taken place there and began to feel somewhat nauseous when he considered that Voldemort may have murdered his family in the very room in which he was now standing.

The adjoining room was slightly less dilapidated, but empty save for few wooden crates. Harry rifled through them carefully, taking out each object one at a time and placing them gently on the floor beside him. There were several books, all leather bound with titles written in languages Harry didn't recognise and one which screamed loudly when Harry tried to open it.

Something glittered in one corner of the box and Harry fished it out, ignoring the other objects. It was a prefect badge, a Slytherin prefect badge. Then Harry understood. These were Voldemort's possessions, some from his youth, things that he treasured. Feeling as though he was trespassing on something very private, Harry seriously considered putting everything back and pretending he hadn't found them. But his curiosity got the better of him; he hadn't expected Voldemort to have any possessions like these, objects that could have only had sentimental value.

Rummaging further, Harry came across all sorts of strange objects. There were many more books, various trinkets and pieces of jewellery, an award for services to the school, identical to the one Harry had received in his second year, several seemingly worthless objects including a fanged Frisbee, a broken quill and an unopenable wooden box. But the last thing Harry found puzzled him more than any of the others. It was a delicate gold ring with two intricately carved lions surrounding a small red stone at its centre. How could an object so clearly connected to Gryffindor house have any emotional meaning for Voldemort?

Not wishing to be discovered rifling through the Dark Lord's personal belongings, Harry hastily returned them to their boxes and left the room. He made up his mind not to speak of his discovery, and resolved to spend the rest of the day reading in his room; he did not want to do anything that might jeopardise his new-found friendship with Voldemort.

* * *

"Harry?"

"In here," Harry called, not looking up from his book. His heart had leapt at the sound of Voldemort's voice but he refused to show that he'd missed him and kept his gaze determinedly away from the door as it clicked open.

"Miss me?"

"Yeah sure," Harry muttered sarcastically, turning to face Voldemort, "Like a hole in the…"

Harry was unsure what to make of the sight before him. Voldemort was dressed in a dark and expensive-looking muggle suit and Harry was taken aback by how normal it made the man look. It looked good.

"Wh…what are you wearing?"

Chuckling softly, Voldemort closed the door behind him and walked over to Harry, taking him into his arms.

"I needed to be disguised," he said simply.

With a great deal of willpower, Harry withdrew from the hug.

"It looks good," he said in what he hoped was a casual tone.

"Thank you." Voldemort was smirking a little too knowingly at Harry, making it impossible for him to look the man in the eyes. Instead, he pretended to be very interested in his fingernails and while examining them, missed Voldemort biting his lip in uncharacteristic nervousness.

"I err… I got you something."

Forgetting his awkwardness, Harry's eyes flew involuntarily from his fingers to Voldemort.

"Wh…what? But I told you…"

"I know, I know but I just saw it and…"

With a small flourish of his hand, a black robe materialised in Voldemort's arms and he held it out to Harry, looking determinedly at the opposite wall.

Still in shock, Harry took it. It was a plain black robe but Harry could tell from the cut and the thickness of the fabric that it hadn't been cheap. He threw it over his shoulders and fastened it before moving in front of the window to examine his reflection.

"You bought this for me?"

"Well I thought it would be practical for you to have one, seeing as it's getting colder now…"

Now it was Harry's turn to smirk knowingly but he did not comment.

"Actually bought it? As in, handed over the money? Not 'killed the shopkeeper and took it'?

"I'm shocked that you think so little of me."

"Yeah 'cos you've never killed anyone before."

"No no, that fear was justified. But to suggest that I would present stolen items as gifts… you wound me Harry."

Harry laughed and studied Voldemort's face carefully, noticing that the handsome features of Tom Riddle were not all lost. The now scarlet eyes still housed a certain arrogance and there was definitely an aristocratic air to him, aided by his high cheekbones and tall frame. Harry felt an overwhelming rush of affection for him, a strange fusion of attraction and gratitude. This man had shown him so much, given him so much, and Harry realised that he wanted to give something back; he wanted Voldemort to feel as amazing as he felt. Leaning forward slightly he closed his lips over Voldemort's and felt the man flinch slightly in surprise.

'_I made the Dark Lord flinch'._

It was not how he had expected it. Though the man's hands seemed to be made of ice, his lips were surprisingly warm… but discouragingly still. In films, kisses sort of flowed together, but Harry could only linger over unresponsive lips for so long… what if Voldemort didn't want this? They stayed like that, with their mouths only millimetres apart, for what seemed to Harry like an eternity.

Voldemort could feel Harry's shaky breaths hit his jaw more and more often as he nervously waited for Voldemort's reaction. The hand on his waist felt as though it was searing through the fabric of his suit. Did Harry really want this? Or had he finally pushed the boy too far? It was hard to think rationally as his hands wound around the boy's back pulling his body against his own. His fingers played with the hem of Harry's shirt, occasionally grazing the hot, smooth skin underneath, causing the teen to gasp and close his eyes in bliss. _He _wanted this, and Harry seemed to… was that enough? These were symptoms… Harry kissing him, him desperately wanting to kiss him back…

Harry's heart soared when Voldemort tugged his body closer and touched their lips together once more. He had a brief moment to smile broadly in relief before those warm lips sought his own once more and before he knew it Voldemort was teasing his mouth open with his tongue which Harry welcomed with an appreciative moan.

The sound made Voldemort weak at the knees and he yearned to hear it again. This was better than he'd expected, much better. How had he never wanted this before? Harry's hands curled around his neck and cupped the back of his head, the little fingers on each hand softly stroking up and down the nape of his neck causing him to repress his own groan of pleasure.

Voldemort broke the kiss abruptly and Harry was grateful for the air, he was fast becoming too hot and needed time to breathe.

But Voldemort seemed to have no intention of resuming the kiss.

"I shouldn't have done that."

Looking slightly horrified, Voldemort took a few steps back, refusing to look Harry in the eye.

"Wh… what do you mean?" Harry looked crestfallen and began advancing on him once again but Voldemort took another step back and held up a hand to stop him.

"Please Harry, you're not thinking straight."

"I never think straight." He was still breathless but his voice also possessed a shakiness that it hadn't previously. How could this be happening?

"I shouldn't have done that," Voldemort muttered again and he pushed past Harry and strode out the door without a backward glance.

* * *

Had Harry forgotten who he was? Had _he _forgotten? Guilt churned away in Voldemort's stomach as he replayed the evening's events over and over in his mind. How could he have done that? How had he had the nerve to kiss Harry? He had longed for it, yes, but he knew it was wrong, and for so many reasons. He killed the boy's parents, he was old enough to be Harry's grandfather. Most importantly, Harry wasn't in his right mind, and Voldemort had taken advantage of that. And now he had only confused him, lead him on just to turn him away…and he had looked so hurt.

Of all the emotions he had experienced since he regained his body, guilt was definitely Voldemort's least favourite. It made him feel empty…hollow… like he'd apparated too fast and was waiting for his insides to catch up. It was a sign that he'd made a mistake or lost control, and there was an element of self-loathing involved. To feel guilt meant admitting that you'd done something you shouldn't have, wishing you had behaved differently. It wasn't part of Voldemort's nature to feel regret.

But regret he did. He couldn't shake off these feelings, couldn't forget the shattered look on Harry's face, or how his voice shook when he spoke. Harry had wanted it so much, or at least thought he did. And God had it felt good.

But it could never happen again.

* * *

Harry was pacing to and fro in his room on shaking legs. How could this be happening? He thought Voldemort wanted this… Voldemort _did _want this, Voldemort wanted _him_. He had felt it in his touch, in his magic. It was as if the past few months had been leading up to that kiss. When he initiated it, he hadn't really known why, but the minute Voldemort responded he knew he'd made the right move, he knew that he wanted more than friendship.

He glanced over at the robe draped over the chair by the fire. It was beautiful… but it couldn't conjure up the same joy it had earlier. Harry wiped a treacherous eye with the back of his hand and looked away from the cloak; it was only reminding him of things he needed to forget.

Why would Voldemort regret their kiss when they had both wanted it? Did he think it was wrong because of who they were? But how could it be? It had felt too good to possibly be wrong…

Knowing that he wouldn't sleep but not having anything better to do, Harry changed and crawled into bed. The robe Voldemort had bought him lay neatly beside him and Harry rested a hand on it lovingly. This now was the only trace that Voldemort cared for him. He froze when he heard a knock on his bedroom door.

"Harry?"

He didn't answer, he didn't want to see Voldemort now… he couldn't. He heard the door click open and his heart began thundering. What was Voldemort going to do? Would he start treating him like an enemy again? Would he tease him about what had happened? What if he threw Harry out?

"Harry I know you're awake, please let me talk to you."

Voldemort's voice was different and Harry was pleased to note that he sounded pained, so he should. He kept his eyes firmly shut and refused to say anything.

Voldemort sighed and sat down on the bed.

"Harry please don't think I don't care about you because I do, so much. What happened is entirely my fault and I apologise." He paused, clearly hoping for a reply. He did not receive one.

"I just think that… this isn't right for us. … … Harry?"

Dismayed, Voldemort saw through the dark that Harry was shaking with silent sobs, still refusing to look at him. He longed to hold him…comfort him, but he knew he'd only be making things more confusing for them both. Instead, he rose from the bed and turned once more to Harry.

"If you need anything, you know where to find me."

He paused again at the door but did not dare to look back.

"I really am sorry."

But that only made Harry cry harder.

* * *

"_And where we go from here is anybody's guess,_

_These thoughts I've got inside ain't easy to confess_

… _I've got to make it known, I've got to let you see_

_But I'm not so strong…"_

_-Mercury Rev_

* * *

**A/N I am so nervous about posting this because it's such a key chapter so if you enjoyed it then please let me know!**

**Please Review =D**

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	17. Chapter 16 The Need To Know Why

**DISCLAIMER: Anything you recognise belongs to J.K. Rowling, not me. I do not own Harry Potter. *sob****. **

**WARNING: Slash, OOCness, definitely limes and possibly lemons, torture, abuse, self-harm.**

**A/N: This is my first fanfic so please review and let me know what you think =)**

**Wow, it's been awhile. But some pretty exciting things have happened in that time. The best one being that I went to the Deathly Hallows Premiere in Trafalgar Square where I GOT J.K. ROWLING'S AUTOGRAPH! And I spoke to her! And she spoke back! Also, I went to the midnight screening and wow, what a leap from the other films. I blubbed like a baby. AND I got an HP tattoo! You can see it here - .com.**

**Also, I've made two LV/HP videos on Youtube, if you want to see them my username is bembridgebabe xxx**

**I also discovered my first error in this story! I keep writing about them sitting by the fire, but so far the story has been set in July, August and September, so they would have no need of them. Oh well :P **

True to his word, Voldemort hardly left the manor at all over the next few days. But despite keeping to his promise, he barely saw anything of Harry, who seemed to be avoiding him at all costs. They had scarcely said two words to each other all week, not for lack of trying, but Harry's habit of responding to all attempts at conversation by shrugging and finding an excuse to leave the room did not inspire Voldemort to persist.

And that wasn't the worst of it. Voldemort couldn't shake the thought that Harry was regressing. His eyes had taken on the old dullness, like skies that had clouded over, and beneath them was the evidence that several sleepless night were beginning to take their toll. He was to blame and all he could do was look on uselessly until Harry decided to forgive him. If there was one thing he had learned in the last few months, it was that there was no point trying to force Harry to do something he didn't want to do.

How did it come to this? What had he become? In a matter of weeks he had developed feelings for someone, Harry Potter no less. He wanted him, lusted after him yes, but more than that. He wanted to care for him, always, and he wanted to be the only one to do so. His feelings for Harry were overpoweringly strong, suffocating even, but he had to put them aside. Harry was going to have to stay at the manor for a long time before the two of them could be safe elsewhere and it wouldn't do for them to not be talking to each other. Perhaps he could talk to him, perhaps he _should _talk to him. Why didn't people write books about what to do in these situations?

* * *

He found Harry in the kitchen, halfway through his lunch. Much to his surprise, Harry had continued to eat just as well, if not better than when he had Voldemort on at him to do so. As soon as he entered, Harry rose and made for the door but Voldemort blocked him.

"Sit."

He was so close, close enough to touch…It took all his strength not to pull the boy to him and let his hands roam over the hot, smooth skin that he now knew to be hiding under Harry's muggle clothes. It was going to be so much harder to resist now that he'd had a taste. He wanted so much more.

Harry stood firm, not meeting Voldemort's eyes.

"Please, I just need… a bit more time." He looked pleadingly up at Voldemort, who felt his resolve wane. He sighed and stepped aside, allowing Harry to escape.

It wasn't that he didn't want to talk to Voldemort, or that he didn't have the courage; he could feel that he was almost there, almost ready. His mind was set. He knew what he needed to do.

* * *

_That evening._

Harry made his way determinedly across the gloomy bedroom to where Voldemort was sat on a squashy blue sofa near the boarded up window, forcing himself to maintain eye contact.

Voldemort said nothing, deciding it would be best to let Harry make the first move. But Harry did not speak either. Instead, he perched slightly awkwardly on the edge of the sofa a few inches away from Voldemort before suddenly, as if he had been summoning up the courage, he shuffled closer and rested his head on Voldemort's chest, conveying a silent message that Voldemort picked up on with relief, 'let's pretend that didn't happen.'

Voldemort dropped a hand to Harry's hair and allowed himself to card his fingers through it before planting a light kiss on the top of Harry's head.

"I'm forgiven then?"

"Yes," said Harry, not entirely succeeding in covering up the shakiness of his voice. And then, in a voice so small that Voldemort barely heard him,

"Am I?"

He was caught off guard by the question, and Harry seemed to take his surprised silence as a 'no.'

"bec…because I am…"

"_Ridiculous child_," Voldemort hissed softly, making Harry's toes curl, "_You have nothing to apologise for."_

'_Child._' Moments like these served as a brutal reminder to Voldemort that Harry _was_ still only a child. He was mature for his age, perhaps a little short-tempered but then, that was something they had in common, and he'd been through so much… It was easy to forget he was only fifteen.

But his youth and innocence only made him more desirable. His slim figure, his unmarred skin… he was untouched… it all made him so much harder to resist. But he knew he had to, for both their sakes. The way things were between them now, if, god forbid, he should lose his new found ability to feel, Harry would be hurt yes, but he would recover. But if they were… romantically involved and then something went wrong… it would surely destroy him. The more he cared, he more he had to lose. And Harry couldn't afford to lose much else.

"Is this your parents' house?"

Harry slid out from under Voldemort's arm and leant back into the sofa, depriving the man of his warmth.

"My father's."

Harry had expected Voldemort to be angered by the question or to perhaps express some kind of disgust, but he merely sounded curious. Every time he thought he understood Harry, he was immediately proven wrong. He had expected Harry to be shy, or maybe clingy, after what had happened between them, but he seemed more comfortable in his presence than before it had even happened.

"I saw it I think, in a dream last year. But it looks different now."

Voldemort's eyes widened.

"You dreamt about this place? But you'd never seen it before."

"Oh, well I um…"

Harry wasn't sure how much to tell Voldemort; could this information be used against him one day?

'Yes,' he told himself, 'it could, but I have to trust him.'

"I can see things sometimes, things that you can see. I saw this place last year when you um… when you killed that old man."

"Oh."

This was more the awkwardness they'd both expected from the situation, though Harry was quite relieved that an 'oh' was the only reaction he got. If Voldemort was alarmed or angered by this information, he did not show it.

"Stop looking at me like that!"

"Like what?"

"Like I'm a three-headed dog or something."

Voldemort smiled.

"I apologise, but you do…"

"Fascinate you, yeah I know, you've said before."

But Harry couldn't possibly know to what extent. He had no clue that at that moment, Voldemort was fascinated by his hands, watching as Harry twisted a loose thread on his jeans round and round his fingers, or that before that, Voldemort had been marvelling at Harry's hair which seemed to defy gravity.

"Why here?"

Truthfully, the main attraction of the decrepit old house was that it was here that he had taken his first step towards immortality. It was here that he had truly become Lord Voldemort and left behind forever, the charming but insignificant orphan that had been Tom Riddle.

"It was the most practical option. It was near my father's grave, it was abandoned, and no one would think to intrude seeing as…"

"Seeing as it's hardly fit for human habitation?"

Voldemort chuckled softly and Harry drank in the sound like a parched traveller desperate for water.

"It has character."

"It _had_ character. Now it has damp, and dust mites."

"And doxy nests," admitted Voldemort, "but I will not leave now, the protection charms I have put up would take too long to replicate, they are complex, even for a highly-skilled wizard."

"Like you you mean?"

He smiled.

"Precisely."

They sat in surprisingly comfortable silence for a while, Voldemort watching Harry intently, trying to discern the reason for his sudden change in attitude.

"What kind of charms?"

Harry felt ill at ease under Voldemort's searching gaze and he worried that Voldemort could see right through him.

"The house works for me. As the rightful owner, it will always work in my best interests, even when I do not know what those are."

Harry's forehead creased in confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you remember when you first entered this room?"

Harry nodded.

"It knew before I did that you wanted to be here, that you would not attempt to harm me, and that, I think, is why it let you in."

"Oh."

Harry had to admit that it sounded like a pretty impressive piece of magic, he doubted he'd be able to anything like that if he lived to be two hundred, he wouldn't even know where to start.

As if he knew what Harry was thinking, Voldemort smiled and ruffled his hair.

"Come, you need to rest, I know you haven't been sleeping."

Looking down, Harry saw that his hands were clenched tightly in his lap. He relaxed them and tried to take deep, calming breaths without Voldemort noticing. His head had been too noisy for proper sleep; he couldn't stop ruminating over what he'd done, how he felt, and what he should do about it.

"However, I did notice that you have been eating properly."

He deliberately said it in a way that invited Harry to elaborate but instead he stood, bade Voldemort goodnight, and left.

* * *

Sleep was not an option for Voldemort, he was too busy reflecting on what Harry had just told him.

'_I can see things sometimes, things that you can see.'_

How long had this been going on? How much had Harry seen? He had never felt like this before, so… open, so invaded, almost vulnerable. It couldn't simply be a side-effect of their connection, as he had never involuntarily seen into Harry's mind. He hadn't been totally honest with Harry, usually the boy did fascinate him but this, this unnerved him greatly. In the past, he had been content to simply accept their connection but now he _had _to know exactly what kind of bond existed between them. The problem was that he and Harry had journeyed into realms of magic hitherto unexplored. There was only one place he could think of to go looking for answers.

* * *

Snape was one of the first to arrive, with only Nott and Avery already present. He bowed to the Dark Lord, maintaining his stoic expression even as he turned to take his place in the circle. Macnair appeared shortly afterwards, followed by Crabbe and Goyle.

While his face was a mask of perfect calm, Severus was overwhelmed with curiosity. As far as he was aware, no one had been summoned in weeks. It seemed that Voldemort was too absorbed in his capture of Harry Potter to implement any of his other plans.

"So few… so few have answered my call…" Voldemort surveyed his followers, none of whom seemed to have the courage to look at him.

"But then, not all my followers renounced me," The accusatory tone in which he spoke sent chills around the circle, "Some, my most faithful, are entombed in Azkaban awaiting rescue."

Snape had a horrible feeling he knew where this was going.

"When we free them, they shall be rewarded beyond their wildest dreams and then, I will entrust them with a task that none here have proven themselves capable to perform."

"My Lord, I am your most humble servant, if you give me this chance I will not let you down…"

"Enough Avery, I tire of your meaningless declarations of loyalty. You made no attempt to find me during my disappearance; this I have forgiven, for now. But remind me again of your continued presence and I may change my mind."

Avery shrunk in on himself, as if he believed that the smaller he was the less chance there would be of Voldemort noticing him.

"One servant in particular will be needed if we are to be successful. Severus…" Voldemort fixed him with a cold, calculating gaze, "I am leaving it in your hands to ensure that Rookwood is brought to me in one piece."

* * *

Dumbledore was emanating that familiar, infuriating and totally inappropriate sense of calm that was his trademark, as Snape relayed this information later that evening.

"So he still seeks the prophecy…"

"You think that is why he wants Rookwood?"

"I am sure of it. No doubt he has become most frustrated with not understanding his connection with Harry."

"And if he does? If he gets the prophecy?"

Dumbledore lowered his head slightly to survey Snape over his half-moon spectacles, and Snape could feel those piercing blue eyes searching…

"The prophecy states that one must die at the hand of the other," he saw shock register momentarily on Snape's face before it was expertly concealed, "I'm sure you can imagine what that knowledge would do to them both."

"And Potter has no idea?"

"I had intended to tell him, and may yet get the chance. But Severus," And finally the calmness was replaced with a look of slight desperation, "If he finds out from another, if he finds I have kept this from him…"

He would most likely never trust the man again. That much was obvious. But Snape knew that there was more to it than that. How could Dumbledore live with himself knowing that Harry had found out that way, from Voldemort of all people, who would undoubtedly be terrifying to behold in such circumstances?

"As for the breakout, I am afraid there really is nothing we can do to prevent it. I have warned the minister for many years that the dementors would side with Voldemort; he can offer them so much more than the ministry can. Voldemort will strike swiftly and we cannot afford to dwell on the matter, it is vital that we are prepared to counter his next move, which will be to retrieve the prophecy from the Department of Mysteries. You must go to Grimmauld Place, alert the Order. Voldemort will want to strike as soon as he has spoken with Rookwood."

"Would it not be more productive to dispose of Rookwood before he has the chance?"

"And leave your loyalty in doubt? Voldemort is particularly dangerous at the moment Severus and I would not like to begin searching for a new potions master this early in the year."

Snape wasn't sure that Voldemort _was _particularly dangerous; after all, he had spared Avery without so much as a crucio…

Snape turned to leave.

"Severus, please ask that Sirius stay behind, it would not do for him to be seen just yet."

Snape nodded and left the room.

* * *

Stay behind? If there was a chance that him going would help Harry then they'd have to kill him to stop him.

Rather than returning to the Burrow, the Weasleys were now staying at Grimmauld place, along with Lupin, Tonks and Moody. It was safer for all of them than to return to their homes. But with so many people under one roof, all worried about Harry, Sirius's house-arrest felt all the more claustrophobic. He would simply have to wait for the rest of the order to go ahead and join them later. He shot a glare at Snape's retreating back. 'Greasy git.'

* * *

Voldemort decided to return home to Harry for awhile before Rookwood was brought to him. He told himself he was being practical returning to safety, but really he desperately needed to be with Harry. His blood was racing in anticipation of his plans and he needed the boy's calming influence to soothe him. But the thought that he could have the prophecy in his hands in the next 24 hours…

Harry was lying spread-eagled on his bed with 1001 Things You Never Knew About Quidditch held above him. He abandoned the book when Voldemort entered.

"Hey."

"Haven't you finished that yet?"

"Nearly, got anymore Harry-friendly books then?"

"I doubt it somehow. Perhaps I ought to invest in a few more things to keep you occupied. I've heard stories about what you do when you're bored. Do not attempt to look innocent Harry; flying cars, killing Basilisks, brewing Polyjuice potion in abandoned bathrooms…"

Harry smiled sheepishly.

"Do you need anything?"

"Chocolate," said Harry simply, taking Voldemort by surprise.

Looking bewildered, Voldemort took his wand out of his robes and wordlessly summoned a large bar of Honeydukes chocolate which Harry tore open eagerly. He snapped a square off and held it out to Voldemort who raised his eyebrows, unsure whether to be shocked or amused.

"I hardly think…"

"Don't be boring, eat it."

Voldemort saw this for what it really was, even if Harry didn't. He had to choose. He could turn it down, be Voldemort, never know what it was like to be a normal person, or he could try it, experience part of the world Harry had started to show him, risk giving up the monster to live like a human. No doubt to Harry, it seemed he was taking an exceptionally long time to decide to accept the chocolate or not.

Very slowly, he reached out and took the chocolate, deliberately brushing Harry's fingers with his own as he did so.

"What do you think?"

He expected the enormity of the decision he had just made to come crashing down upon him, expected to immediately regret it.

"I think I could get used to it."

**A/N Don't worry, he's not giving up his evil ways! He's just not being so stubborn about it anymore, he's going to let Harry show him the alternative before deciding for good.**

"**If I let you reach me, will you teach me? For you know better than I, you know the way, I've let go the need to know why, I'll take what answers you supply, you know better than I." Joseph, King of Dreams**

**Please review =D (politely)**


	18. Chapter 17  Enough

**DISCLAIMER: Anything you recognise belongs to J.K. Rowling, not me. I do not own Harry Potter. *sob. **

**WARNING: Slash, OOCness, definitely limes and possibly lemons, torture, abuse, self-harm.**

**A/N: This is my first fanfic so please review and let me know what you think =)**

**Thank you so much for your kind reviews, I'm glad to know you're enjoying my story, especially seeing as, with some of the turns it's gonna take, most of you will probably end up hating me :P **

"**How I long to fall just a little bit,**

**To dance out of the lines**

**And stray from the light**

**But I fear that to fall in love with you**

**Is to fall from a great and gruesome height"**

**- Dar Williams - Iowa**

As the ominous, triangular building became more visible through the mist, Snape could feel the presence of the dementors and he felt a shiver pass through him that had nothing to do with the cool spray of the North Sea licking at his heels. The anti-apparition charms meant that their only option had been to fly and they were forced to keep as near to the surface of the water as possible to avoid being spotted. Hopefully, the dementors would sense their presence before any guards saw them, he could give them Voldemort's message and they could get the job done without any complications. 'Or injuries' thought Snape, grimly.

The thick fog caused by the dementors made it difficult to keep track of the others, and it seemed to worsen as they got closer. Surely they could feel them by now, seven fresh souls entering their midst must be tempting them away…

And then, seemingly out of nowhere, a mere inch away from his face, emerged a dark hooded shape. The smell of decay was heavy in the surrounding air and it felt suffocatingly close. Snape just had time to pull out his wand and cast a flimsy, silver shield before him; his aim was not to drive them away after all.

"I come with a message," he yelled against the wind, though it seemed they could hear him despite its persistent howling, "from the Dark Lord. He wishes you to join us." He could only hope that they would agree to it, Dumbledore was right, their 'talents' were wasted here compared to what Voldemort could offer them. They did not speak, they could not, but they drifted back towards the large tower jutting out of the waves and made no further attacks on the death eaters. Snape turned to the others and nodded. They drove on through the fog with renewed enthusiasm, the first and greatest obstacle had been overcome. But then there was a flash of red light, a cry and a splash, and an abandoned broom where Macnair had been only moments before.

The guards.

He had to act quickly.

"Expulso!" The wall exploded sending great chunks of stone crashing down into the surging waters below. The high security prisoners should be at the very top of the building, with any luck he could find Rookwood quickly and leave. He passed many people he recognised whose cell walls had been blasted apart: the Lestranges, Dolohov, Travers.

And then finally, though he could barely recognise him, Rookwood. He grabbed the startled man by the wrist and dragged him towards the gaping hole in the tower wall, pulled him onto his broom and rode away swiftly and unnoticed.

* * *

Harry couldn't help but smile as he lay side by side with Voldemort, the half eaten chocolate bar lying on the bed between them and the tingle from Voldemort's touch still present in his fingers. Voldemort however, looked deep in thought.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"You are different."

Harry frowned, different to what?

Voldemort turned on his side to face Harry and propped his head up on his arm.

"This last week, you seem… different."

Harry could think of nothing to say.

"Why have you been eating properly again?"

Harry didn't really want to talk about it, it was too personal and he had made his decision already. Voldemort sighed.

"You don't always have to be strong Harry."

He should have known Voldemort would suss him out sooner or later, but the truth was, he wasn't just putting on a brave face. He hadn't been himself these last few months, and Voldemort's rejection had made him realise that he needed to pull himself together.

"Do you?"

Harry hadn't honestly expected any answer. Voldemort just smiled at him and rose from the bed.

"I need to leave for awhile, but I shan't be long."

"Ok," said Harry, though truthfully he was a little disappointed that he was being left alone again so soon.

Voldemort swept majestically out of the room without a backwards glance. Harry let out a long breath. The tension when they were so close was suffocating. It was pure torture; he wanted those hands on him again, wanted to feel those warm lips against his. Was this how it was going to be between them now? Would simply talking to Voldemort ever be enough again? Would being close to him always remind him of that day, of what he could have had? He hoped not.

* * *

Snape was having trouble keeping track of time. Waiting only a short distance away from the Dark Lord, he could hear the pain Rookwood was in. He closed off the sections of his memory that showed the times they had worked together before he had been imprisoned.

When he had arrived at the forest with Rookwood, it had soon become clear that Azkaban had ruined him, chipped away at his mind, leaving it irreparably damaged. The Dark Lord was having to resort to very powerful Dark Magic to retrieve the information he needed and it was causing Rookwood to writhe on the forest floor in agony. He had heard screams before, he had watched people die, some even at his own hand, but it wasn't something you ever really got used to.

After what felt like hours he heard the screaming cease and then the rustle of leaves as Voldemort approached him.

"Hold out your arm Severus."

He did as he was told, and refused to let the pain show on his face when Voldemort touched the tip of his wand to the Dark Mark emblazoned on his forearm.

Several pops of apparition were heard all around the clearing, as the newly rescued death eaters and their rescuers answered their summons.

Bellatrix Lestrange threw herself at her master's feet before gazing up at him with a reverent expression on her pale, dirty face.

"My Lord… My Lord…"

"Rise Bellatrix."

She met his eyes without fear and gazed at him in wonder. She was not weak like Rookwood, Azkaban had not broken her, though it had stolen away her former beauty.

"You will be rewarded for your loyalty Bellatrix, you have Lord Voldemort's gratitude."

Her eyes widened as she backed away, still crouched in a half bow but with her head turned to look up at him.

"It is an honour to serve you my Lord."

Voldemort turned to the speaker, a surly-faced man, who bowed low before moving back to join his wife.

He took in the appearances of his followers. They were thin and dirty, their hair dishevelled; they bore the faces of men and women far older than themselves.

"Your suffering does not go unnoticed, and your loyalty will not go unrewarded. Go now and rest. I will need you all at full strength if we are to be successful."

As his followers disapparated, Voldemort noticed Snape remain behind.

"Will Rookwood be joining us my Lord?"

"Rookwood is of no further use to me. You have done well Severus."

Snape bowed stiffly and disapparated.

Voldemort however, did not leave straight away. Though he did not want to approach it, he found himself drawn to the spot where Rookwood lay cold and lifeless on the forest floor. It had been unavoidable. By the time he had extracted what he needed, there was little left. It was kinder, he told himself, to end it.

But the sight repulsed him for some reason, put thoughts in his head that moved too fast to follow. It was a waste yes, Rookwood had been a valuable servant, but why should that make him feel so…

'I had no other choice.' He thought grimly, and he transfigured the body into a pebble and without a backwards glance, made his way back to the manor.

He went straight to his study, purposefully avoiding Harry's room, how could he face him after what he'd just done? What was it Harry had said? – "You can't touch me with hands that have killed innocent people."

'But Rookwood wasn't innocent,' he reasoned, and he did so want to go to Harry, to hold him, to feel that inner calm, to forget the night's events; but he couldn't quite bring himself to.

* * *

Harry was restless. Voldemort had said he wouldn't be long, but the night had come and gone, along with the morning and still there was no sign of him. What if he was hurt again? What if this time he never came back?

Later that evening, Voldemort had still not come home and Harry was trying very hard to keep it together.

'_There's nothing I can do,' _he told himself firmly, _'and besides, it's not like Voldemort isn't capable of looking after himself.' _A traitorous little voice began invading Harry's mind with hundreds of 'what ifs' but he forced them down. The short hand of the old grandfather clock in the kitchen moved sluggishly from the ten to the eleven, and still Harry was alone. Passing the time all day had been difficult; he had finished reading _1001 Things You Never Knew About Quidditch, _he had eaten supper, he had been for a leisurely (but far from relaxing) walk around the garden… he was out of ideas and with every hour that passed, it grew harder and harder for Harry to distract himself from his worries.

* * *

Voldemort was pacing. He knew there was no point, it wasn't time yet; but he couldn't stop the endless ideas of what the prophecy could say as they swirled nauseatingly around inside his head. Where would his death eaters be right now? Would they be inside the Ministry yet? Had they successfully negotiated the rotating doors? Could they even be in the Hall of Prophecy already, about to take down the anti-apparition charms and call him to find out the truth at last?

At last, at a quarter past midnight, a silvery doe came bounding towards him though the trees.

"My Lord, wards are down. The Order is here. Fight in the Department of Mysteries. Outnumbered."

Voldemort froze.

That was not part of the plan. The Order… what should he do? Either his Death Eaters would be killed, or people Harry cared about would… but how could he choose? And how could he stop the fighting?

* * *

"Good evening Tom."

Voldemort spun around to see Dumbledore looking coldly back at him. All around them the fighting continued, but it seemed as though everything else was happening in the background and it was only the two of them that mattered. The loathing filled Voldemort before he had a chance to stop it and he shot a jet of green light towards the old man who effortlessly deflected it.

"You aim to kill me Tom? I must say I'm surprised."

"Surprised? Don't you know who I am old man?"

"I'm rather sorry to say I do, or at least, I thought I did. Do you Tom? Do you know who you are?"

Without realising it, they had both begun to circle each other, but neither struck. It seemed as though they were both holding off, in case they might miss some revelation from the other. Voldemort only hissed in response. There was something peculiar about the way Dumbledore was looking at him; it was a mixture of contempt, disgust and… grief?

"Let him go Tom."

Voldemort gave a great yell of fury before shooting another green jet of light that missed Dumbledore by mere inches.

"What would Harry say if you killed me?"

How was it that this man could read him like no one else could?

"He would not care. He knows now how you have lied to him."

He thought Dumbledore's dismayed expression would make him feel better, but somehow it only made him feel worse.

"I had intended to tell him about the prophecy, I admit I may have left it a little late…"

"A little? You are _too _late. You cannot save him old man."

"No. Perhaps I can't."

And finally Dumbledore swung his arm in a great circular motion around his head and a long stream of fire issued from his wand, transforming before their eyes into a large bird which soared over towards Voldemort. Glaring fiercely, Voldemort aimed a bright purple spell at the bird's chest and it burst into hundreds of feathers which became daggers and hurled themselves at Dumbledore. The golden statue of the centaur from the fountain leapt in front of him at the last minute and the feathers bounced off his shiny torso and onto the floor where they shattered like glass.

"Avada Kedavra!"

It was a woman's voice. The duelling pair paid no attention to it until they heard the pained, animalistic cry that followed.

It was if everything happened in slow motion. The cry had come from a rather shabby-looking order member but it was not he who had been hit. He was gazing, horror-struck, at the crumpling figure of Sirius Black and back to the gleeful face of Bellatrix Lestrange.

Voldemort's insides contorted. If Dumbledore had not been so intently focusing on the scene, he could have cursed Voldemort easily. As it happened, it seemed that everyone's eyes were fixed on Black's lifeless body. Harry's godfather… the nearest thing to a relative he had left…

The pain was too much, he felt he would die from the sheer agony of it.

When he spoke his voice was a hoarse whisper, his face a cold, stoic mask,

"I order my Death Eaters to stand down."

And then he was gone.

**A/N It's a bit shorter than usual but I'm really busy at the mo. Oh and I just realised it didn't let me put my tumblr on last time do my username is everiddle. **

**Please review xxx**

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	19. Chapter 18  Without Thinking

**DISCLAIMER: Anything you recognise belongs to J.K. Rowling, not me. I do not own Harry Potter. *sob. **

**WARNING: Slash, OOCness, definitely limes and possibly lemons, torture, abuse, self-harm.**

**A/N: This is my first fanfic so please review and let me know what you think =)**

**Thank you so much for your kind reviews, especially voldemorthugs and guiltone. I'm glad to know you're enjoying my story, especially seeing as, with some of the turns it's gonna take, most of you will probably end up hating me :P **

**It's a short one I'm afraid, but I think you'll like it, I hope so anyway. It's just that this one and the next one work best as standalone chapters I think.**

'**Can I conceal myself for evermore?  
Pretend I'm not the man I was before?  
And must my name until I die  
be no more than an alibi?  
Must I lie?'**

"Normal Speech"

_'Thoughts'_

"_Parseltongue"_

Emphasis

After everything he thought he had learnt from Harry… he'd gone and done this. Was this how he repaid him? Two people… in two days… and that was after he'd promised to choose Harry over everyone and everything else. Could he do this? Could he really leave Lord Voldemort behind forever for someone he would not let himself be with?

It was his thoughts, more than his feelings, that were aggravating him.

What would it be like to feel without thinking?

The faces of Rookwood, of Black and his distraught friend flashed across his mind. He needed Harry, Harry who could soothe him with his very presence. But it was late, Harry would be sleeping and Voldemort could not think of any excuse to wake him. Images of Harry's lifeless body joined the others dancing accusingly before his closed eyes. If that were ever to happen… was there a pain beyond what he felt now? Was it really possible to feel worse than this? What if Harry was dead right now, or dying? What if he needed his help? He knew he was just being paranoid but he had to know for sure.

He entered without knocking, expecting the worst.

"Where were you!"

He was alive. And awake. And angry. And fresh out of the shower, a dark green towel tied around his waist. Voldemort turned to leave.

"I should come back…"

"Don't you bloody dare! Where were you? You said you'd be back and you've been gone two days! I thought you were dead!"

"I'm sorry Harry."

They were both quite shocked to hear the words leave his mouth, but if Harry had felt anything like how he had when he had imagined Harry dead…

"Where were you?" His voice was small this time; the sincerity in Voldemort's apology dissolved most of his anger at once.

"I…" Why was it so hard to breathe? He couldn't tell him, how could he?

Harry hadn't told him, but Voldemort knew he had made a conscious decision to be stronger, to get better. Was he supposed to walk in now and crush that chance?

"What's wrong?" asked Harry.

Looking concerned, he walked over to Voldemort and tentatively reached out to touch his arm.

"Don't." Voldemort snatched his arm back and turned away, but not before Harry saw the look of anguish on his face. It should be him comforting Harry, not the other way around. He sat down on the bed and stared at his hands clasped tightly in his lap. Before he could fight it, Harry had knelt down before him, entwined their fingers and placed a light kiss on his cheek.

What would it be like to feel without thinking?

"_Relax_," hissed Harry.

Perhaps he meant it to be soothing, it was; but it was also undeniably erotic. He cupped Harry's cheek and brought him in for another kiss. It started slowly and gradually became more fierce as Voldemort poured all his confusion and misery out onto Harry.

What would it be like to feel without thinking?

Pulling Harry up with him, Voldemort lay down on the bed and rolled over to straddle Harry before resuming their kiss. Harry felt as though his nerves were on fire as Voldemort kissed his way down his neck to his chest, which rose and fell rapidly. Voldemort began kissing a path downwards towards the towel, and heard a sharp intake of breath as he got lower. Hands reached out for his robes and sent alarm signals going off in his brain.

"Harry…"

"Yes…" breathed Harry, as Voldemort lowered his face to his neck.

"You're fifteen…"

"So?"

Voldemort raised his head to look at Harry incredulously.

"And I'm sixty nine."

"I'm old enough to know what I want."

He reached out and took Voldemort's hand which had been lingering tantalisingly on his abdomen, moving it further down in order to prove how much he wanted this.

Voldemort repressed a shudder at the action and closed his eyes, trying to logic himself out of his decision. But it hurt to think.

"It's ok," whispered Harry and he reached up to trace Voldemort's lips with the tip of a finger, touching them so lightly that it almost tickled.

* * *

It was completely different, as though previously, a part of Voldemort had been holding back. But now every kiss, every caress, was electrifying and had Harry desperately gasping for breath as Voldemort moved inside him. Though it was uncomfortable (aside from the initial pain, two skinny bodies pressing together was a recipe for elbows in ribs and clashing hipbones) it was also exhilarating.

Harry couldn't believe what was happening, kept expecting Voldemort to change his mind, tell him that this was wrong. But it wasn't wrong; it was what they'd both been waiting for, what they both so desperately needed. And then Voldemort leant forward and kissed Harry's scar, sending him colliding with oblivion, with Voldemort not far behind.

Coming down from his high, Harry began to shiver slightly, more from his disbelief than the relative cold. He was waiting anxiously for Voldemort to say something; he did not trust himself with the responsibility of initiating what could be the most awkward, amazing conversation of his life. The longer he waited, the more he began to panic. Was that it? Was it all over now? Would Voldemort be angry with him for seducing him after he'd told him it could never happen?

Sensing the boy's anxiety, but not wanting to ruin the moment with words, Voldemort slid an arm around Harry's waist and moved in closer to him to kiss the top of his head. Harry smiled nervously at him and Voldemort returned it, hoping he was communicating to Harry all the things he would never find words to say. It must have worked; he could feel Harry's heartbeat gradually slow and his breathing deepen as he drifted off to sleep.

**(8) Too long I roam in the night, I'm coming back to his side to put it right (8)**

**Oh and I made another Voldy/Harry video on my Bembridgebabe Youtube account. It's to S&M by Rihanna (who I hate by the way but the song is kinda addictive). **

**The next chapter will be quite short too as it's sort of thoughts/emotions based rather than a whole chapter with plot and stuff, but it should be up quite soon hopefully.**

**Hope you liked, please review =D**

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	20. Chapter 19  When Tomorrow Comes

**DISCLAIMER: Anything you recognise belongs to J.K. Rowling, not me. I do not own Harry Potter. *sob. **

**WARNING: Slash, OOCness, definitely limes and possibly lemons, torture, abuse, self-harm.**

**A/N: This is my first fanfic so please review and let me know what you think =)**

**Here's the teeny weeny chapter I was talking about.**

'**Underneath your dreamlit eyes, **

**Shades of sleep have driven you away,**

**The moon is pale outside and you are far from here.**

**Breathing shifts your careless head, **

**Untroubled by the chaos of our lives,**

**Another day, another night**

**Has taken you again my dear'**

**Eurythmics**

Looking back over his relatively long life, Voldemort could honestly say that he had never expected to find himself here. And yet, here he was lying propped up in bed, gazing fondly down at the boy next to him. He did not know how long it had been since Harry had fallen asleep, he was too intent on watching the slow rise and fall of his chest with each breath, too busy admiring the way his eyelashes fluttered gently as he slept.

It felt as though nothing existed but the two of them. Who they were before, and the chaos of their old lives that still reigned outside the walls of the manor, meant nothing. He and Harry were the only thing that mattered.

He looked so fragile, so peaceful; beautiful even in his sleep. Harry shifted slightly, turning his head away from Voldemort, revealing a dark purple patch of skin on the side of his neck. Voldemort smiled and caressed the mark lightly with his fingertips; Harry had loved it when he'd made that mark, Voldemort had felt the boy's fingers tighten in his hair, felt his gasp of pleasure on his skin.

It had been the beginning of something, something Voldemort hoped would never end. Harry had somehow managed to wash away his troubles from the previous night. Something about the boy's touch, his adoration, his innocence, had healed him. He didn't have to go on living the way he always had. He could change, he _would _change.

'I_ have _changed_.'_

From now on, Harry was everything. He was strong yes, but he was young, and things would never be easy for the two of them. Harry needed protection, Voldemort's protection.

Closing the space between them, Voldemort held Harry's body against his own, revelling in the warmth of his skin. He would keep him safe no matter what. He kissed the top of Harry's head lightly before settling down to sleep himself.

He had made his choice.

'**And you know**

**That I'm gonna be the one**

**Who'll be there**

**When you need someone to depend upon**

**When tomorrow comes.'**

**Eurythmics**

**So most of you liked the last chapter (apart from Dalistar123 who was only reading this fic for the explicit sex even though I never said there would be any) so thanks for reviewing guys =D**


	21. Chapter 20 Away Chains

**DISCLAIMER: Anything you recognise belongs to J.K. Rowling, not me. I do not own Harry Potter. *sob. **

**WARNING: Slash, OOCness, definitely limes and possibly lemons, torture, abuse, self-harm.**

**A/N: This is my first fanfic so please review and let me know what you think =)**

**Sorry**** for ****the**** delay ****guys, ****you**** know ****how**** school ****interferes ****with ****life.****This ****chapter ****was ****partly ****inspired**** by**** the ****beautiful ****song**** '****Chains****' ****by ****the**** severely**** underrated ****band, ****Mercury**** Rev.**** I**** hope ****you ****like ****it.**

His old life, his friends, Hogwarts… they had never felt so far away. It was as if they were part of some other life, one that he had left behind, sacrificed to embark on this weird and wonderful journey with the man beside him. Voldemort looked far more vulnerable in his sleep, though Harry could still feel the power radiating from him. He was thin, thinner than Harry, and yet his strength was undeniable, as if it was his magic that powered his body and enabled him to do such exquisite things with it. The feeling of being connected to that power, the way that rich, mellifluous voice had repeated his name with such reverence, the way those long, icy fingers had trailed feather light circles over his hot skin… It had been magnificent. Harry had expected force from Voldemort, and pain, but there had been something almost worshipful about the gentle way Voldemort had explored his body.

Revelling in the memories, Harry smiled to himself and slid from the bed, pulling on his cloak from Voldemort before leaving the room. Through bleary eyes, Harry noticed a thin strip of daylight running past his feet to a door a short way down the hall. His curiosity getting the better of him, he slowly pushed the door open. Instead of another decrepit old room carpeted with dust, Harry was surprised to find what looked like a small library, clean and airy with a large bay window on the opposite wall through which he could see milky sunlight beginning to break through thick, white mist. In between rows of shelves were small round tables, one of which was scattered with loose sheets of parchment.

He knew he shouldn't look, this room had always been locked before now and Voldemort probably wouldn't want him there. As he drew nearer, Harry saw that the parchment nearest too him was flooded with ink from a small overturned jar leaving half the page totally illegible. It looked as though Voldemort had been interrupted and had left in a hurry. Harry never had found out where he'd been last night. Harry smiled, brushing his fingers against the parchment and taking in Voldemort's elegant, sloping handwriting. He was about to turn and leave when he saw his name among the words.

* * *

It took Voldemort a few moments to remember everything. Harry… his touch…his voice… He was disappointed that Harry wasn't in bed with him but he knew he needn't worry, Harry had probably just wanted a little time alone to get his head around everything that had happened. Voldemort showered and dressed as slowly as he could to give Harry enough time. It was all going to work out. It would be difficult at times, he knew that, but the way they felt for each other… that wasn't going to change. Harry was his now, and he was Harry's. There was nothing he wouldn't sacrifice for them to have a happy life together. It was odd to feel so content, so at peace with the world. Instead of plotting and scheming he could simply spend a leisurely day with Harry. He had never dreamed that another person would make him feel this way. Power… that was all he had ever wanted, and though a part of him still desired it, he desired Harry more.

Not able to wait any longer, Voldemort went in search of his young lover. Noticing that the door to the library was open, Voldemort went in, a warm smile plastered on his face at the prospect of seeing Harry.

His smile suddenly faltered. Harry was… Harry had… he knew… he had read… why now?

"Harry, I…"

"When were you going to tell me?"

It seemed as though an invisible hand was constricting his windpipe, rendering him totally incapable of speech.

"After you'd slept with me? Taken what you needed? Or were you going to pretend forever that this _thing_between us is real?"

"It… it is real."

"Did you plan this from the beginning? Was it a game?" His eyes scanned the page in front of him before he read aloud: "a syndrome often triggered when a captive mistakes a lack of violence, or provisions such a food and shelter as kindness from their captor…"

"Harry," Voldemort interrupted, "Harry I promise you it wasn't like that, I knew it might.. but then I thought you…" He looked helplessly at Harry, "it…it's not real?"

"No, and it's not for you either." He flipped over a couple of pages. "Dumbledore attributes these foreign emotions to Potter's blood, a sort of side-effect of the ritual."

He was losing him, he had to do something.

"Harry, you asked me once why I cared and I told you it didn't matter why, it doesn't, I still…"

"Of course it matters!" Harry yelled, "You say it yourself here, our feelings are only symptoms, you don't care about me and I…"

Harry stared hard at Voldemort's anguished face and felt his rage grow, drowning out his pity.

"I don't care about you." There were a few moments of agonising silence where Harry refused to look at Voldemort as he saw him, out of the corner of his eye, slump dismayed into the nearest chair.

"I messed up Harry, I'm not good at this, I don't know what I'm doing." Harry continued to glare at him but he couldn't help but feel slightly sorry for him.

"I should have told you but I thought I was doing the right thing."

"Taking advantage of me when I clearly wasn't thinking straight? You knew… all this, you knew all along and you never said a word, you knew and you still…"

"You're wrong Harry, I do care about you, and you…"

"Shut up! You lied! You lied to me! What else have you kept from me?"

Voldemort flinched at the question and looked despairingly up at Harry who was trying not to feel guilty about the pain he was causing, trying to convince himself that the man deserved it. But something in Voldemort's expression caused a sense of foreboding to well up inside him.

"What else?" he asked shakily.

Voldemort couldn't say it aloud. He was scared, it had been decades since he had last felt fear. He was going to lose Harry, he'd hurt him too much and he must hate him now. Unable to speak, he beckoned Harry towards him and Harry came cautiously over to him, curiosity and pity driving him forwards. Before he could stop it, Voldemort had grabbed his hand and was squeezing it tightly. He was about to snatch it back when a large hall full of people appeared in his mind's eye. He saw Dumbledore fighting Voldemort, McGonagall fighting Lucius Malfoy… Suddenly he heard a loud, animalistic cry and turned his head.

Voldemort couldn't stop the tears from coming as he showed Harry his memory of what had happened to Sirius Black.

When it was over, Harry stumbled away from him, looking shell-shocked.

"He left you everything, his family home, number 12 Grimmauld Place, along with all his possessions, a house-elf too, Kreacher."

Voldemort waited for Harry to speak, he needed to explain to him that it wasn't his fault, that he had never meant for anyone to die, that he was sorry. It seemed like an eternity passed before Harry finally spoke.

"I want to leave."

"You can't mean that." In his desperate state Voldemort found the strength to stand and go to Harry. He held Harry's body tightly to his while he thrashed around in his arms.

"Let me go!"

"No. I care about you Harry, I can't let you go not knowing that."

"Well I don't care about you!" Harry yelled, clawing at Voldemort's robe in an effort to get free, the calmness with which Voldemort spoke causing him to panic.

"Yes you do. I know you want this Harry, I know you care."

To his horror, Harry felt Voldemort's hand slip inside his robe, stroking his chest. He struggled harder but Voldemort was too strong.

"I know you feel it," Voldemort whispered, "I know it's there."

"Maybe I did, but not now, not anymore, let me go! Stop!"

Voldemort's hand was gradually moving further and further down.

"You felt it last night Harry."

Tears were now running freely down Harry's face as he protested uselessly.

"I'm going to make you feel it again." He tore Harry's robe apart and began kissing his way down Harry chest, caressing his sides as Harry writhed against him.

"NO! Get off me! Leave me alone! Please, please stop!"

Harry knew what was about to happen but he was powerless to stop it. He should have seen this coming, he should have suspected that the one good thing left in his life was all a lie, that it would end like this. He yelped and sobbed as Voldemort forced him to the ground and he felt the man's weight on top of him.

And Sirius… He sobbed harder as memories of his Godfather came back to him. What if he'd been fighting for Harry when he was in no danger? Was he to blame for Sirius's death?

As Voldemort's hand found it's destination, Harry was struck with an idea, his one hope… Maybe…

"K…Kreacher?" He choked questioningly. There was a loud crack and though Harry could not see the elf, he knew his plan had worked. He was Kreacher's master now.

"Away from here," he whispered hoarsely, and a small, rough hand wrapped around his wrist and he felt a familiar jolt behind his navel.

* * *

The portraits covering the walls of Dumbledore's office were not yet awake and he couldn't help but be grateful for the silence, it compensated for the inescapable noise in his head. He hated it, wished someone else had been burdened with this knowledge, and yet his burden was nothing, _nothing_compared to Harry's. He knew now what had to be done, though he would rather not know. That which he had always suspected, always feared, had been confirmed.

Harry was so brave, so honourable; he was ten times the man Dumbledore ever was. How could he ever tell him? Why had he never told him what he had known before? It had been too easy to lie to himself, to justify his secrecy when deep down he knew that Harry had a right to know. But the truth hurt, and Harry was just a boy.

Closing his eyes and burying his face in his long-fingered hands, Dumbledore tried to shut out his taunting past. If Harry ever returned he would be in the same position that Dumbledore had been in, would have the same impossible choice to make. It wasn't easy to sacrifice the one you love, not even for the greater good. Sometimes, even after all this time, he regretted his choice. Some might think him selfish for it, but the greatest poverty in life is to be alone and sometimes he just wished…

He was brought out of his musings by a small scratching sound and saw that a large silver/grey owl had landed on his desk and was holding out its leg, offering its letter to him. Intrigued, Dumbledore carefully took the letter and the bird took off through the open window. Turning the letter over in his hands, he could see that it bore the sigil of St Mungo's Hospital.

* * *

"**Oh**** God, ****I ****feel**** I****'****ve**** been ****lied ****to,**

**lost all faith in the things I have achieved**

**and I've woken now, **

**to find myself in the shadows**

**of the lie I've created."**

**- Evanescence **


	22. Chapter 21 The River

**DISCLAIMER: Anything you recognise belongs to J.K. Rowling, not me. I do not own Harry Potter. *sob. **

**WARNING: OOCness, definitely limes and possibly lemons, torture, abuse, self-harm.**

**Wow there are so many songs I wanted to share for this chapter and I couldn't pick so I'm sorry there are so many. The name comes from Springsteen's beautiful song, The River. **

"**Should have seen just what was there and not some holy light…I'm all out of faith, this is how I feel, I'm cold and I am shamed, lying naked on the floor. Illusion never changed into something real." - Natalie Imbruglia ~ Torn **

"**Where are those happy days? They seem so hard to find, I tried to reach for you but you have closed your mind. Whatever happened to our love? I wish I understood. It used to be so nice; it used to be so good." – Abba ~ S.O.S. **

Dumbledore hadn't minded hospitals when he was younger. Some of the things people did to each other were hilarious; but he had no room in his mind now for those he passed who could only bleat rather than talk, or whose shoes were forcing them to tap dance around the waiting room. He used to think them comical, but people could also do terrible things to one another. He needed to see Harry, needed to know that he was alright. He strode past the reception area, ignoring the indignant welcomewitch. The elevator was slow. He strode on. Rounding a corner, he passed a group of healers and carers in their green robes. One shouted after him; he didn't stop. He was on the right floor, somewhere here…

"Mr Dumbledore!"

A carer was chasing after him. He was faster than she was.

"Mr Dumbledore please!"

Another corner, the Janus Thickey Ward, somewhere… Harry…

And then there he was. Dumbledore vaguely registered the carer's hand on his shoulder. Harry was in a private room, apparently asleep, the thick, white hospital blankets pinning him to the bed. He looked peaceful, as if he was in the middle of a good dream.

"He'll be alright Mr Dumbledore, a little bruised, and exhausted bless his heart. House elf brought him in just gone half five. Terribly in shock he was, couldn't understand a word of what he was trying to tell us. Healer Anderson tried him on some calming draughts, but he must be immune or something so Anderson gave him dreamless sleep potion. He's due to wake in a couple of hours." She paused and lowered her voice.

"No one knows he's here yet, Mr Dumbledore," she began seriously, "but it won't be long before the press get wind of it. It's the last thing he needs right now. Being crowded seems to aggravate him, been having to treat him in ones and twos, hates being around too many people and he don't like noise either."

Dumbledore only nodded. How had he let this happen? The reality of the situation had finally struck him. How could Harry ever come back from this? How would he find the strength to do what must be done? He shrugged the carer's hand from his shoulder. Harry was fifteen. He'd been through enough and Dumbledore would not be responsible for causing him any more pain.

"Thank you Miriam, perhaps I could return a little later?"

"Of course Mr Dumbledore," replied the carer, looking a little bewildered, "not sure where he'll be mind you, no one was sure where to put him when he got here, don't really have a ward here for this sort of thing, best to check with the welcomewitch when you get here."

"Thank you." He gave her a quick smile and left as quickly as he'd arrived.

* * *

"Albus, what has happened?"

Minerva McGonagall hurried into Dumbledore's office in her tartan dressing gown.

"Dilys came to her portrait in my room, gave me quite a fright, said you wanted to see me urgently."

"No need to worry Minerva, good news at last," he forced a smile, "Harry is back."

McGonagall gasped and clapped her hand over her mouth, her eyebrows rising up to where her hair was falling in long strands from its hastily tied bun.

"I think perhaps Miss Granger and Mr Weasley ought to hear the news too, if you wouldn't mind fetching them…"

"Of course…" she replied at once, breathless with shock, "Is he alright Albus? Where is he?"

"He'll be just fine Minerva."

Ten minutes later saw them all seated in Dumbledore's office, Hermione hugging her knees to her chest and looking anxious, and Ron in his too-short pyjamas, awkwardly sipping the tea that Dumbledore had insisted on making them.

"Now I'm sure you're both anxious to see Harry but I think it would be best to let him get his strength back a little first."

"Where's he been? What happened to him?" asked Ron.

"I'm afraid he has not yet spoken with anyone about what happened."

Ron eyes fell back to his tea but Hermione continued to stare sharply at Dumbledore.

"But you know," she said.

"Miss Granger," McGonagall began, shocked at her almost accusatory tone, but Dumbledore raised a hand to silence her.

"I believe I may indeed know, but I think Harry would prefer it if he were the one to tell you."

It was partly the truth. In reality of course, it would be painfully difficult for Harry to ever explain to anyone what had happened to him, but it would be better in the long run if he did.

"Now, I believe breakfast begins in half an hour and I know you'll both want your energy for your lessons."

Taking this as their cue to leave, Ron and Hermione rose from their seats, thanked Dumbledore and left his office.

As they walked back to Gryffindor Tower, Ron tried to figure out why Hermione was acting so strangely, Harry was back! She'd not stopped worrying about him long enough to eat, sleep or even study very much.

"Come on cheer up, Harry's back!"

To his horror, Hermione rounded on him, looking furious.

"Honestly Ron! How could you be so naïve?"

And with that she turned on her heel and went off upstairs to the girls' dormitories, leaving Ron totally confused.

* * *

Nagini could not make her master move. Looking blankly out over the water, he ignored the numbness of his fingers, the blue of his lips and the goosebumps covering his skin.

Harry…

He searched his mind desperately for any trace of Harry's thoughts or feelings; but there were only his own. It was over. He was never going to see Harry again, and even if he did… He didn't deserve him, he deserved all the rage and loathing the boy could throw at him. He was a monster. Was he? He wished he understood.

Harry had lain here with him. The sun had ever so slightly coloured the boy's pale skin and he remembered the happiness he felt seeing this, and knowing that Harry was healthy, that he was caring for him properly. Where had he messed up? It was all wrong, he should never have believed for a moment that he could have had a normal life, that either of them could. Had they really been happy together? It seemed so hard to remember now.

* * *

He felt hands on him as he woke.

"Shhh, Harry," A soft, female voice comforted him as he struggled, "you're safe, you're safe. Here, your glasses."

It wasn't Voldemort's voice, a woman, it was a woman but then… Harry stretched out a hand tentatively for his glasses. Putting them on shakily he saw in front of him a pretty, smiling woman in pale green robes.

"Morning Harry, you slept a little longer than expected. Do you know where you are?"

_Hands, shouting, loud, no, please, stop, a hand, a flash, so many people…_

Harry pressed a hand to his forehead, his face twisted with pain.

"Harry? Harry do you know where you are love?"

He cried out loud, who was she? Why…

_Hands, yells, green robes, bright lights._

"Harry my name's Miriam. I know you feel a bit confused right now, but can you remember where you are?"

_A hand, yells, lime green, bright lights, potions, charms, a bed…_

"H…Hospital," he stuttered weakly.

"That's right, you're in St. Mungo's. Now, I'm not going to make you talk to me about everything just yet Harry, but can you tell me a bit about how you feel? Are you in any pain?"

Harry shook his head, paused, and then nodded, raising his hand back to his forehead, frowning.

"What happened?"

"Can you remember Harry?"

He couldn't, he wouldn't.

_I want to go home._

He shook his head.

"Alright sweetheart, are you alright to stay here for a wee minute while I pop outside?"

Harry nodded and the carer left. He looked around. He was in a private room, small with two chairs and a window high up on the wall. He shifted uncomfortably in the tight bedclothes, pulling them loose and sitting up fully. What was going to happen to him? Was Voldemort here? Would he come for him?

_Hands, cries, care, I know you care, no, stop, please!_

The door opposite the bed had a small window in and Harry could see people moving around outside. Did they know? His stomach rumbled and his scar throbbed as he remembered Kreacher, and Sirius… It felt as though his grief was progressively eating away at him, leaving a bigger and bigger hole inside him each time he revisited it.

_Green, tears, hands, white lights._

Blue eyes… a familiar face at the window… and then he was gone.

Smiling brightly, Miriam re-entered the room.

"Ok Harry, Healer Anderson wants you to have something for the pain but you can't have it on an empty stomach. Breakfast's over already but I can fetch you something from down the hall, what can I get you? Cereal? Toast?"

Harry's eyes were still fixed on the glass pane in the door.

* * *

After a long fight over the toast, Harry had been allowed the pain-relief potion and also an anti-sickness draught just in case.

"Feel better?"

"Yes," he lied.

He felt numb, as if this was all happening to someone else and he was simply watching.

"Good." She smiled gently. "We want to help you Harry, and it's easier for us to do that if we know what's happened to you. Can you tell me anything about where you've been?"

He opened his mouth a little before closing it again and shaking his head, staring hard at his hands clasped tightly in his lap.

"Ok that's fine, now, if I ask you some questions about it could you nod or shake your head like you did just now?"

There was a long pause; and then a small nod.

"Did you run away from home?"

Harry shook his head.

"Ok, were you taken forcibly from your home?"

He nodded.

"Did the person take you to their house?"

Another nod.

"Did they physically hurt you?" There was a long pause. A crucio… once, in three and a half months. But the rest of the time… He was better off there than in this place. No, how could he think that after what he'd tried to do?

"At all?"

Harry nodded.

"Often?"

He shook his head vigorously.

Miriam questioned him for another five minutes before leaving him.

He wouldn't tell them, they wouldn't understand. Yes, Voldemort had taken him from his home, but that was to keep him safe from what was happening to him there. And he had looked after him, given him food, comfort, safety. They would never believe all that. Harry saw his cloak draped over the back of one of the visitor chairs. Leaning over, he pulled it off and draped it over himself, vowing to not tell anyone what had happened.

"**Healing comes so painfully and it chills to the bone, will anyone get close to me? I'm damaged as I'm sure you know. I'm scared and I'm alone, I'm ashamed and I need for you to know, I didn't say all the things that I wanted to say and you can't take back what you've taken away 'cos I feel you, I feel you near me." – Plumb ~ Damaged **

"**At night on them banks I'd lie awake and pull him close just to feel each breath he'd take. Now those memories come back to haunt me, they haunt me like a curse. Is a dream a lie if it don't come true? Or is it something worse, that sends me down to the river though I know the river is dry?" – Bruce Springsteen ~ The River**

**I'm all ill and bleurgh today so please leave me some reviews to cheer me up, love you guys xxx  
**


	23. Chapter 22 Confessions

**DISCLAIMER: Anything you recognise belongs to J.K. Rowling, not me. I do not own Harry Potter. *sob. **

**Got more autographs! The Phelps twins came to Watford to switch on the Christmas lights and it turns out they give freakin' amazing hugs.**

**Also, please follow me (everiddle) on tumblr, I'm one of the only people on there that ships Harrymort :P **

**Big thanks to Pictavienne for translating Blood Brothers into French for me and to Lord . Voldemort 777 for the review that was almost long enough to bind and publish XD **

**Glad I inspired some of you to check out Mercury Rev too XD**

**WARNING: OOCness, torture, abuse, self-harm.**

"**He slept a Summer by my side, He filled my days with endless wonder**

**He took my childhood in his stride, But he was gone when Autumn came."**

**- Les Miserables**

"Normal Speech"

_'Thoughts'_

"_Parseltongue"_

_Memories/Flashbacks_

"Morning Harry!" Miriam bustled cheerily into the room with a tray of tea and toast which she set down on Harry's lap, "Now, it's Thursday today so Healer Anderson will be coming to check on you at about ten. So we've just got time to get you washed and breakfasted before he comes around." She was beaming at him and Harry found himself able to smile back. Truthfully, he felt a little better already. It would come and go, some minutes were harder than others, but most were bearable. He was already keen to leave St. Mungo's and maybe the Doctor's check up would be the perfect opportunity to arrange that. He wasn't sure where he'd go, he just knew that he didn't want to stay here. He wanted some independence back, he felt as though he couldn't make sense of everything that had happened until he knew he was truly alone, and he was never alone for long here. He was constantly being monitored, watched, poked and prodded, asked questions, controlled like a child. He wanted a sense of normality for once, to not spend most of his time in a bed like an invalid, to make his own food, to go out places, get some fresh air. He never wanted to be dependent on someone again.

He was at least allowed to shower in peace and by five to ten he was waiting nervously for Healer Anderson; he had to convince the man to let him leave.

* * *

"Hello there Mr. Potter." Anderson was a tall, thick-set man with a square jaw and a long straight nose, but a crinkled smile that softened his face. He wore lime green robes and pointed green boots that squeaked on the dull, grey floor.

"Hi." It felt strange to talk.

"How are you feeling this morning?"

"Fine, good."

"I'm glad to hear it." Anderson sat himself in the chair beside Harry's bed and set his clipboard down on the other. A large, white quill stood straight up on the page and began to scribble furiously. Harry was reminded of Rita Skeeter and her Quick Quotes Quill.

"Does anyone know I'm here?"

"Your guardians have been informed, as well as your headmaster," he smiled kindly at Harry, "the press, so far, are not aware you have been found." Harry nodded mutely. He imagined the Dursleys receiving the letter, the disappointment on their faces when they read that he was alive and well and would be returned to their care in the Summer holidays.

"Now, do you mind if I perform a few diagnostic spells on you? They're simply to test your blood pressure, sugar levels and the like."

"Yeah, ok."

Anderson took out his wand and waved it in several complicated patterns over Harry's body, occasionally muttering numbers to his quill which frantically scribbled them down.

"Ok, everything seems to be in order. Now, how have you been feeling in yourself since you got here?"

"err…" How had he felt in himself? What did that even mean?

"Fine, great," replied Harry, mentally kicking himself for sounding so obvious.

"Ok that's good." The Healer's smile was a little too understanding for Harry's liking. "Now, we've established that you were taken from your home against your will and that the person who did this did, on at least one occasion, hurt you physically whilst you were in their care. As a Healer, I would expect this to have affected you in some way, perhaps emotionally or mentally. Can you think of any affects this experience has had on you?"

Did he play along? List every horrible thought and feeling that was rollercoasting through his mind, or did he continue to insist that everything was fine?

"I don't really want to talk about him," Harry replied honestly, "It doesn't really matter."

"Is that the truth Mr Potter? Because usually, when patients don't want to talk to me about something, it's because it matters very much to them."

"He didn't… he didn't mean to… he didn't know what he was doing." He didn't want to be forced to think about it but he had to make them understand that none of it was simple, that Voldemort had meant well, that he just hadn't understood the situation properly. Harry wanted to forgive him so badly.

"Mr Potter, everything you tell me is confidential. I am not interested in dealing out justice to this man. That will come later, if you want, but for now I am only concerned about you, and about how you feel."

"I'm worried about how he feels." Harry was shocked by his sudden confession; but it was the truth, if Harry was struggling, then how was Voldemort, who had never felt emotions until a few months ago, supposed to cope with what had happened? They were both so used to each other's company, Harry hated to think of Voldemort all alone in that huge house, with no one to look after him. He wondered briefly if he should be there looking after him and felt guilt twist inside his chest.

"Ok, and how do you think he might be feeling?"

"He…" Harry thought about it. "He'll be confused, and maybe, I don't know, guilty…"

"Should he feel guilty?"

Harry didn't answer.

"Do you think _he_'s worried about how _you__'__re_feeling?"

"I don't know, maybe."

"Is he the only person you had contact with?"

Harry nodded.

"When you first arrived here Mr Potter, you were confronted with a lot of people, and it seemed as though that made you feel uncomfortable. Is that how you felt?"

"It was a shock but I'll get used to it."

"Well you certainly seem to be feeling positive, which is good."

"When can I leave?"

"It's hard to say at the moment Mr Potter, but the more we know, the more we can help you. Now, your headmaster wishes to visit you this afternoon. How do you feel about that?"

So he hadn't imagined it. Dumbledore had been here. Did he know what had happened? Harry wasn't sure he could face all the questions, but he'd just spent the past quarter of an hour trying to convince the Healer that all was well…

"That's fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, yeah that's fine."

"Alright Mr Potter. He said he would pop in at around two when you've had your lunch ok?"

Harry nodded.

* * *

Harry thought that Dumbledore seemed a little unsure of himself, standing awkwardly in the doorway in long magenta robes, not knowing whether or not it would be insensitive to smile. Through his nerves, Harry realised that convincing Dumbledore he was ok was going to be a lot more difficult than persuading Healer Anderson, but far more vital.

Currently in one of his calmer, detached phases, Harry was glad his emotions weren't in as much disarray as he'd imagined they'd be, it felt as if they had all taken a holiday but he knew they would soon return without warning.

"It's good to see you back Harry."

Harry just smiled. He thought about saying it was good to be back, but he didn't.

"How are you faring?"

"Fine."

Dumbledore walked slowly over, not meeting Harry's eyes, and sat down on one of the visitors' chairs.

"I'm told you saw the healer this morning? What did he have to say?"

"Nothing much. He said I'm fine. Sir, when can I come back to school?"

Dumbledore raised his head and looked Harry in the eye. His expression was full of understanding but it made him feel uncomfortable, as if more than two eyes were staring at him.

"I spoke to healer Anderson about that earlier. He told me you were keen to leave." Dumbledore paused. "Mr Weasley and Miss Granger are very much looking forward to seeing you again." His eyes flicked momentarily to Harry's cloak which lay draped over the end of his bed and Harry saw him look momentarily downcast, as if his worst fears had been confirmed. He sighed heavily before smiling grimly back at Harry who swallowed nervously, suddenly feeling a lot more awkward.

"How are they?"

"They have missed you."

Harry had hardly thought about his two best friends for the past couple of months, it seemed strange to think that he would soon be seeing them again. How would they react? Would they tread carefully around him, as if they were walking on eggshells? Would they demand to know everything that had happened to him?

"Anderson also said that you were not overly keen on talking to him about your experiences over the past few months."

Harry feigned interest in the patterns of the paint on the ceiling, as if he hadn't spent the past couple of days doing nothing other than stare at them.

"I really think it would help, Harry?"

Harry couldn't talk. His emotions had come back and it hurt, every way he turned. Who could he trust better than Dumbledore? He had never told him about the prophecy but… he had always been right, always known best. His head hurt. Had this been what it was like for Voldemort when he first started feeling emotions after so long? Was it worse? Thinking about him only made Harry feel worse.

"I don't want to."

"It doesn't have to be me, or a healer. It could be Miriam, or someone else from another hospital could…"

"I'm not mad!" Harry snapped angrily. He didn't need to _talk_about what had happened, no one could possibly understand what he'd been through and no amount of talking could possibly do anything to make him feel better about it. He just wanted to forget.

"No one thinks you're mad Harry. You're suffering from Acute Stress Disorder, it's perfectly normal after a traumatic event to…"

"I'm not suffering from anything!" yelled Harry, "I'm suffering from being cooped up in this room all the time with nothing to do and people watching me non-stop and I'm sick of it!" How dare Dumbledore come in and tell him what he was feeling! No one knew what he'd been through; no one had the right to go putting names to his feelings like they weren't his own.

Harry was panicking now. His emotions were wildly out of control, they were moving so fast he felt almost nauseous. His eyes flitted nervously around the room, as if scanning for potential danger. To make matters worse, the healer had come in to see what all the noise was about.

"Is everything alright?"

He forced himself to calm down, he brought his knees up to his chest and resting his head on his arms, closed his eyes. Breathing deeply, Harry pretended he was the only one in the room, that none of this was happening.

"Harry wants to leave," Dumbledore explained simply.

Anderson looked unsure, glancing at Harry's hunched position on the bed. "Mr Dumbledore, I'm not sure that's wise just yet."

"Perhaps we can talk outside for a moment?"

"Of course, I'll just fetch Miriam to…" he looked worriedly over his shoulder at Harry as he left the room.

When they re-entered, Dumbledore and Anderson both looked relieved to see that Miriam had calmed Harry down enough to get him to play exploding snap with her.

"Mr Potter…" Harry looked up at the healer reproachfully.

"It has been decided that you may leave St. Mungo's at the end of this week for the beginning of the school holidays. This will give you time to settle in without being crowded by people. You will spend the first week in the hospital wing under the care of Madame Pomfrey, how do you feel about that?"

It was longer than he had hoped, but it was a definite and he had to admit that he couldn't quite face a Hogwarts full of students just yet.

"Ok."

* * *

If he closed his eyes, Voldemort could recall the night they had spent together, the night he had thought everything would change for him, for them both. He remembered the bliss he had felt when he had finally allowed himself to give in to his desires.

_Voldemort was lying on top of Harry, exploring his exposed chest with his mouth, delighting in the way Harry's body would arch and twist beneath his own. He heard him moan loudly in frustration as he ran his fingertips ever so lightly along Harry's thighs, never quite giving him what he wanted. _

"_Please, Voldemort please…"_

The vision morphed.

"_No! Get off me, leave me alone! Please!"_

_Harry was sobbing as he forced the boy to the ground beneath him, he struggled but Voldemort was stronger. He needed to make Harry understand. _

He was so tired, it felt as though he were dying. It would be so easy to slip away now into an eternal sleep, with the promise of relief. No more guilt, no more screaming or crying. But he could not die.

'_Let__me__dream__' _he thought as he allowed his eyes to close, '_let__me__dream__of__Harry.__'_

"_Master?__"_ Nagini coiled herself tightly around her master, trying desperately to shield him from the cold, and brought her head up level with his.

"_Go inside Master, then you can sleep."_

"_Do you think he is safe Nagini? Do you think he'll come back?"_

Nagini unwound her body and slithered away into the house. Voldemort followed soon after, his legs like lead from the cold and the exhaustion.

* * *

Dumbledore visited Harry frequently over the next week, they spoke together very little but Harry no longer found the silences awkward. Dumbledore insured that he was not forgotten about, that he had Miriam's company when he could not be there. He did not question him and for that, Harry was grateful. He was beginning to feel as though he could possibly move on, if only people would stop trying to make him look back. Under Dumbledore's orders, Miriam also ensured that Harry got a copy of _The__Daily__Prophet_everyday. It was strange at first, to read about the outside world having not lived in it for so long but he enjoyed reading the mundane news about other people's lives. He sometimes discussed what he read with Miriam over a game of exploding snap or wizards' chess.

This particular day though, the day before Harry was due to return to Hogwarts, he and Miriam were sitting in the empty visitor's tearoom on the fifth floor. Miriam had been very quiet and was being beaten soundly by Harry who usually, much to Miriam's amusement, usually lost within minutes.

"Harry…" He looked up from his cards to see Miriam looking nervously around the tearoom. "It's not really my place to say this, but are you sure you should be leaving tomorrow?"

"Um…" he looked slightly startled at her openness. "Yes of course, do you think I shouldn't?"

"It's just…" She frowned slightly, obviously trying to decide if she should tell him what was on her mind. "I knew someone, a long time ago, and he couldn't get the help he needed and…" She took a deep breath before continuing, "he didn't make it."

Harry didn't know what to say.

"I… I'm sorry, was he someone close to you?"

"He was my son." She smiled weakly at the horrified look on Harry's face.

"He was tortured, I was away, I had no idea. He was never the same again. I tried to get him help but the Healer I took him to said he was fine. He couldn't take it."

"I'm so sorry."

"Hardly your fault," she replied, "God I'm sorry you don't need to hear this right now, it's just, you remind me of him and I couldn't bare it if… and in my care too…"

"Stop," said Harry firmly "that's not… I'm fine. Please believe me."

Miriam didn't look convinced and Harry decided he owed her some honesty after what she had shared with him.

"He…hurt me. Not physically, but he confused me. I thought he was… but then he did something, and it was awful, and it hurts to remember it but if I don't think about it then I'm fine, honestly."

She looked at him sharply.

"You trusted him?"

Harry nodded.

"Is that why you don't trust me?"

"What?" He'd just told her… how could she think he didn't trust her?

"He betrayed your trust; I was wondering if that's why… you should talk to someone Harry."

Hadn't she been listening? It only hurt when he revisited it, that part of his life was best left alone.

* * *

Dressed in the clothes that Dumbledore had brought in for him, his cloak fastened over his shoulders, Harry took a last look around the hospital room. He wasn't sorry to see the back of it, but the thought of going back to Hogwarts brought butterflies to his stomach. When Miriam came to say goodbye, the butterflies turned into full-size bats. She tried to look happy for him, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was letting her down somehow.

"Alright Harry?" Dumbledore asked when they were outside.

"Yeah."

Dumbledore held out his right arm and Harry tentatively put his hand on it and prepared for the discomfort of apparition. He snatched his hand back a moment later however, frowning.

"Sir, what happened to your hand?"

* * *

**A/N Just in case anyone was wondering, it was Voldemort himself that tortured Miriam's son, during the first wizarding war. **

"**You should have told me nothing lasts forever**

**It's nearly over, nothing lasts forever**

**I'm only dreaming, I can't find an answer**

**I'm only screaming, one step from disaster**

**Take me home."**

**- The Faces of Sarah**

- 9 -


	24. Chapter 23 Bring Him Home

**Bring Him Home**

**Don't kill me. I know, I know, it's been ages. I'm sure all my excuses would bore you terribly, so let me just thank you for your continued support for my story. Just a small chapter today, but hey, I'm back. **

**P.s. one of my excuses is that CosmicEssence quite rightly pointed out a plot problem in the chapter 'Away Chains' which I have now rectified (I think). Basically Harry wouldn't have known about Kreacher, so I have Voldemort briefly mention it. You can go back and re-read that chapter if you want, but that's essentially the only alteration. I think the plot works again now, I hope so. **

**Remember where we left off? Dumbledore is just about to take Harry back to Hogwarts xx**

A loud crack and several panicked screams caused Harry and Dumbledore to wheel around sharply.

"No," whispered Harry pleadingly.

Healers and carers were running frantically in all directions, and in amongst them, looking perfectly calm, stood Voldemort, not ten feet away from where Harry, Dumbledore and Miriam were standing. Harry heard Miriam's terrified gasp, and felt Dumbledore's arm push him roughly behind him so as to shield him, but Harry had already met Voldemort's eyes.

"Harry."

He did not shout, but somehow his voice, thick with raw emotion, carried over the tumult. Red sparks shot past Harry's arm towards Voldemort.

"No!" shouted Dumbledore. "Miriam, no, take Harry, go!"

Voldemort easily deflected the spell but to Dumbledore's surprise, did not send one back.

"I have not come to fight, Dumbledore, give me Harry."

"No." Harry had never heard Dumbledore's voice so cold. Voldemort glared at him.

"Don't be foolish Dumbledore, he needs me."

"Are you sure it's not you that needs him, Tom?"

Miriam had grabbed Harry's arm and was trying to drag him away. Harry wasn't sure whether or not to let her. Voldemort was hurting, he was alone. No one was looking after him like they were looking after Harry, was Harry being selfish letting him go through this alone? He thought about Hogwarts, about trying to explain everything to Ron and Hermione. Wouldn't it just be easier to go back to Voldemort?

"I'm not going to hurt him."

"You've already hurt him Tom, and you'd do it again, whatever your intentions. I can't let you take him."

"Don't make me fight you."

"No!" yelled Harry. "Don't fight! No more fighting, please!"

"You need to leave, Tom," warned Dumbledore calmly. Harry tried to run forward, unsure of who he wanted to protect, but Miriam held him back.

"You see Dumbledore? He wants to come home. Tell them Harry, tell them you want to come back home, tell them you want to come with me. Harry?"

"I…"

"Harry, go with Miriam."

"Don't fight! Please don't fight!"

"Harry go! Now!"

"No!" Harry heard Voldemort's furious cry as Healer Anderson grabbed Harry and dragged him away, he saw Voldemort raise his wand, and Dumbledore do the same before he was swept around the corner and the two duellers were out of sight.

"No! Take me back, please, please! You don't understand!"

"I'm sorry Harry."

"Voldemort! No! Stop! He'll kill him! He'll kill him!"

As soon as Healer Anderson thought they were far enough away, he grasped Harry's hand firmly and Harry felt the all-too familiar lurching sensation in his stomach. Anderson was the only one who heard Harry's last pleading cry for his old lover as they apparated away.

* * *

Madam Pomfrey had insisted on seeing to Dumbeldore's arm before letting him see Harry. She'd filled him in whilst tending to the purple-tinged wound just above his left elbow, which he'd failed to notice until she'd pointed it out. It'd been a struggle to get Harry up to the castle, but by the time he was brought to her his voice was hoarse from yelling and he was too exhausted to do more than choke and sob breathlessly. She'd given him a strong sedative potion that'd knock him out for at least twelve hours.

"I'm sorry Harry." Even in his sleep, Harry seemed troubled. So young… so afraid… Dumbledore was well accustomed to feeling guilt, it was something he'd had to deal with for most of his long life, but it never really got any easier. He hadn't been able to save Harry, he'd failed him again and again, and there was no telling if he'd ever be able to come back from what he'd suffered. Worst of all, Dumbledore knew that there was so much more to come, so many unavoidable hardships that Harry would have to face, and he, Dumbledore, was the one who had to put that burden on Harry's shoulders. And he wouldn't even be around to help him. Right then, in that moment, if there had been a way for him to take Harry's responsibilities, his huge destiny, onto himself, he'd not have hesitated for a moment to do it."

"**Bring him peace, bring him joy,**

**He is young, he is only a boy.**

**You can take, you can give,**

**Let him be, let him live.**

**If I die, let me die,**

**Let him live, bring him home."**

**Please Review xxx**


	25. Chapter 24 - Catching Up

Chapter 24 - Catching Up

Harry came to slowly. He felt groggy, and had the distinct feeling of having overslept and missed something terribly important. The memories filtered in frustratingly slowly, and he had to make a conscious effort to catch them as they flitted in and out of focus. He was in the hospital wing at Hogwarts, it must have been either early morning or late evening, judging by the long shadows marking the stone floor. He could have asked himself a thousand questions at that moment, but he felt numb and unable to think. Perhaps he'd been knocked out and given some strong potion that made him feel completely flat. It was an odd feeling, after a period of such turmoil, for Harry to suddenly find himself emotionless. He replayed the events at the hospital over and over again in his mind, but they didn't trigger any kind of reaction in him.

"Ah good you're awake. How are you feeling Mr Potter?"

Madame Pomfrey had appeared through the curtains around Harry's bed with an armful of bottles which she carefully placed onto the bedside table.

"Fine. Tired."

"Yes well, that's to be expected. Any pain?"

"No."

"Nausea?"

"No."

"Grand. Let me just run a few checks then."

She took out her wand and Harry recognised some of the patterns she traced in the air as being the same that Miriam had done.

"Madame Pomfrey, what time is it?"

"5.30 in the morning Mr Potter."

"Is Professor Dumbledore here?"

"He is, I expect he'll be along shortly."

Harry sat passively, thinking and feeling nothing, while Madame Pomfrey finished running her tests. Then, sure enough, Dumbledore's tall, striding form came sweeping into sight.

"Ah Harry, you're awake; good, good. Madame Pomfrey, a word?"

With the curtains around his bed now drawn, Harry could get a better look at his surroundings. He felt a slight pang at the familiarity of it all, he was really back at Hogwarts. The hospital wing wasn't exactly new territory for Harry either. He vividly recalled visiting Ron here after he'd been bitten by Norbert, and Hermione multiple times while she was petrified by the basilisk in their second year. Of course, Harry himself had spent his fair share of time under Madame Pomfrey's care too, having been attacked by Quirrell, deboned by Lockhart, after falling from his broomstick in his third year, and of course in his fourth year just after...

"Harry."

"Professor."

"I'm glad to hear you're feeling better. I know that there are two people who'd be very keen to see you, as soon as you're feeling up to it."

Something stirred in Harry at the mention of Ron and Hermione, but he couldn't tell if it was longing or fear.

"They know I'm here?"

"I did inform them last night, I also however, requested that they not visit you until you feel ready. It must feel strange being back here."

"A bit," Harry admitted.

"Now, I'm sure you must also be wondering about the arrangements for your schoolwork."

Dumbledore's smile told Harry immediately that Dumbledore knew full well that Harry had been thinking nothing of the sort.

"No doubt you will be anxious to catch up on what you've missed in order to achieve the best you can in your upcoming O.W.L.s. I'm sure it will be no surprise to you that Miss Granger is all too willing to fill you in. I have written to the examiners regardless to inform them of your circumstances, we have to do so several times each year for all sorts of reasons. You're not the first student to have extenuating circumstances and you'll be pleased to know that many go on to do just as well as their peers."

"Thank you Professor."

"I must go now Harry, I have a meeting with the Minister, unless you have any more questions?"

There was a long pause before Harry shook his head.

Dumbledore gave him a knowing look.

"No one was hurt Harry."

Harry nodded and kept his eyes fixed on his hands.

Dumbledore rose to leave.

"Oh, I almost forgot. This is for you."

He reached inside the folds of his robes and pulled out a long, thin package wrapped in brown paper.

Harry took it and immediately recognised the neat, curly lettering.

"Thank you Professor."

Once Dumbledore had left, Harry slowly unwrapped the parcel, revealing a black velvet box containing a long, dark green quill and a small note.

_Dear Harry,_

_I hope you don't think it is inappropriate, me giving this to you. It belonged to my son, Paul. I bought it for him to encourage him to write down his thoughts and feelings, he said it sometimes helped him make sense of them. The quill is self-inking, it will never run out and its writing can only be read by the one who wrote it. I want you to have it now, and I hope it serves you well. _

_Best Wishes,_

_Miriam_

Harry sighed heavily. So many people wanted to help him, but didn't they understand? He wasn't sure if he wanted to get over what had happened. Sure, some of his worst memories were of the last few months, but so were many of his best. Did he really want them to become the past, just something that happened to him once? He couldn't exactly forget about Voldemort; whatever he decided to do he knew he'd see him again, perhaps many times, maybe even to fight him. This wasn't over, and there was no point pretending that it was.

* * *

By the evening, Harry was agitated and already begging Madame Pomfrey to let him leave the Hospital Wing.

"Honestly Mr Potter," she huffed, "you've only been back 12 hours. You have a whole week here so you might as well get used to it."

He flicked through the copy of the Daily Prophet she'd given him in an effort to placate him. He was surprised to see that The Chudley Cannons had actually managed to win a game against Puddlemere United. Ron would be pleased. There was also a report on how successfully the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office had dealt with a man selling sports shoes to muggles which forced them to dance the Charleston every time they tried to run.

Ron and Hermione were coming to visit at three. Harry had already calmed down a lot and felt far less anxious about seeing them again. He was actually just looking forward to the company. Madame Pomfrey seemed to be feeling more positive too, and was happily floating non-melt icicles onto the excessively large Christmas tree at the opposite end of the room, humming 'God Rest Ye Merry Hippogriffs' to herself. Harry was surprised at how good he felt, how normal. The quill from Miriam lay untouched in its box on his bedside table.

* * *

"Harry!"

Hermione was running towards him with a huge, genuine smile on her face. Harry caught her in his arms and couldn't help but laugh. She felt warm and familiar, and he squeezed her tight.

"It's great to see you." She released him and plonked herself down on the bed. Ron was behind her, trying to hide his nerves behind his smile, but failing.

"Hey."

"Hey," Harry replied, "see the game yesterday?"

Ron visibly relaxed.

"Nah, couldn't get tickets. Bill went though, said it was awesome, he's supposed to be sending me some pictures."

"Wicked. So, how have you both been?"

"Fine."

"Bored."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Don't mind him, he's just moody because he wants to spend the holidays playing chess and I pointed out that he might want to start revising for his O.W.L.s.

Now it was Ron's turn to roll his eyes.

"Are many people here for Christmas?"

"A few, less than usual," replied Hermione, "a few N.E.W.T students have stayed to revise, and there are a couple of second years but we only ever see them at dinner. You should see what they've done to the Great Hall this year Harry, it looks great."

Harry asked after both their families and about how their O.W.L.s were going; he wanted to keep the conversation on them as much as possible, he wasn't ready for questions yet.

While they talked Hermione effortlessly charmed small pieces of coloured paper to fold into flower shapes which she then arranged on Harry's bedside table. They didn't leave until forced to by Madame Pomfrey two hours later. Harry couldn't believe how smoothly everything seemed to be going.

* * *

Voldemort scanned the pages of his diary frantically for something Harry had said to him once.

"I can see things sometimes... Things that you can see."

He and Harry had some kind of connection, one that ran deeper than just their feelings for each other. Harry must realise this. He'd be back soon.

So this was loneliness. He'd never known it. Time without Harry moved painfully slowly. How had he filled his time before Harry? He couldn't even remember. He didn't want to send his death eaters out again, Harry was sure to hear about it and then he might be more wary about coming home. He wished there was some way to contact Harry. He wished he would at least dream about him, hear his voice, feel the warmth of his body up against Voldemort's own. The memories created a painful pull in Voldemort's chest.

"Oh Harry, I cannot live like this." Nagini coiled herself around him and nuzzled the side of his head with her face. "Please come home soon."

* * *

The remainder of Harry's time in the Hospital Wing passed quickly and smoothly. Much to Madame Pomfrey's disapproval, Dumbledore had allowed Harry to leave a day early, and he made his way to the Gryffindor common room. Coming back to a place after so long causes a surreal feeling, as if the familiarity of the surroundings pushes itself towards you, onto you. He spoke the password Dumbledore had told him and the Fat Lady's portrait swung open to allow him entry. Ron and Hermione were sat in front of the fire surrounded by books and scrolls of parchment. Hermione saw him first.

"Harry. I thought..."

"Dumbledore."

He wandered over. Ron had a charms book open on his lap and Hermione was surrounded by bits of parchment with bullet pointed notes on.

"They're for you," she explained, "McGonagall asked me to make them to help you catch up."

"Right, thanks." That would be good, he told himself, to help him get back into the swing of things.

"You'll be able to catch up no problem."

"Until you get to charms," Ron grumbled, staring down blankly at the pages of the textbook.

"Honestly Ron, did you really think you could leave it until Christmas to start learning the whole course?"

"Well, yeah. It didn't look that hard when you were doing it."

"Well that's because I practiced."

"Yeah, right; wanna play chess Harry?"

"Sure."

Hermione huffed disapprovingly but said nothing.

It all started off easy, the pretending, the laughing, the chatting. But it got harder. Ron ran out of small talk and Hermione was busy making Harry's notes. The silence made time pass more slowly. And slower time meant more time, and more time meant more thoughts. If time was passing slowly for him, it must be even worse for Voldemort. How would he be spending his time? Was he, at this very moment, working on a plan to steal Harry back? Or was he totally grief-stricken, sitting at his desk again with Nagini trying to reassure him? Which would Harry prefer? If Voldemort did take him back, would he be the same? Or was he so angry with Harry that all his feelings had vanished?

He was interrupted from his musings by a loud rumble from Ron's stomach. Hermione and Ron exchanged glances.

"Harry," Hermione began gently, "we might go down to dinner now. Did you want us to bring you something back?"

"No," Harry said quickly, "I'll come with you." He didn't particularly want to go to the Great Hall, but he found that he was suddenly terrified at the idea of being alone.

He followed the two of them in awkward silence as they made their way to the Great Hall. Hermione was right, the decorations were beautiful. The usual plain white candles that floated above them had been swapped for red and green ones, long, sharp icicles like the ones Madame Pomfrey had had in the hospital wing hung from the top of every window and the large stone gargoyles on the wall had been enchanted to look like ice statues. At the very end of the hall, behind Dumbledore's seat at the top table was a very large tree, decorated in red and gold with tiny moving lights. Harry noticed that Dumbledore's place was empty.

"Doesn't Dumbledore come to dinner?"

"Hardly ever," replied Ron, "we've hardly seen him at all since..." He stopped and shuffled awkwardly. Harry ignored this and took his seat at the Gryffindor table. There were very few students who had chosen to stay for Christmas, but one in particular caught his attention.

"Malfoy's here?"

"Yeah," Ron grimaced. "Complete prat he's been, spent every class bragging to anyone who'd listen about some expensive holiday he had planned, Hermione and I thought we'd be rid of him, and then he bloody stays here, doesn't say much mind you, just sort of... glowers. Still, strange for him not to go home to Mummy and Daddy."

Harry knew they were all thinking about the breakout from Azkaban. Malfoy's father was one of those who had escaped. Reading about it hadn't been easy, it seemed Voldemort had been carrying on his old ways behind Harry's back for longer than he had previously thought. Harry tried to kid himself that he was glad to be rid of him. Then he remembered the feeling of being held by him...

"Harry?" Hermione looked concerned.

"Sorry, daydreaming. Can you pass the potatoes?" He saw Hermione attempt to cover up her pitying expression and felt a sudden rush of guilt. This must be hard for them too.

"Hermione, could you go over some of those notes with me after dinner? It'd be good to know where I stand with it all."

She looked surprised.

"Oh, well, you don't have to start straight away Harry, I've made them quite concise so that..."

"Yeah well, the sooner the better though right?"

"Yes, I suppose so."

* * *

Going over the notes didn't make Harry feel any better. Seeing how many pages there were made it all seem very daunting.

"I know it seems like a lot Harry, but we'll have plenty of extra revision time before June."

"Yeah," said Harry, "right, ok." He stood up. "Well, I'm gonna go and start looking over these then."

"Goodnight Harry."

"Won't be long, mate."

"Ok, night."

Once he was alone Harry let out a long, deep exhale. He had been foolish to think he'd be able to cope with coming back. He sat down on his bed, noticing that his trunk had been delivered for him. Hedwig fluttered in her cage, making Harry smile.

"Hello Hedwig." He took her out and stroked her soft feathers. "Sorry I was away so long. I was.." He rummaged in his trunk and found a packet of owl treats, which he fed a couple of to Hedwig. For a rash moment, Harry thought about sending her with a letter to Voldemort, to let him know that he was ok, and to find out how he was doing. But he quashed the thought, knowing that Dumbledore wouldn't approve, and would probably somehow know if Harry tried to do so. He tried to comprehend the fact that if he ever saw Voldemort again, it'd probably be to fight. They'd never chat, or touch, or kiss again. It didn't seem to sink in. He was still wearing the cloak that Voldemort had given to him. He shrugged it off and buried it at the bottom of his trunk, at the same time pulling out his pyjamas and the Marauder's Map. He scrambled into bed and took the dreamless sleep potion Madame Pomfrey had given him. As he waited for the effects to kick in, he looked over the map. He saw himself in the dormitory, and Ron and Hermione downstairs in the common room. He then turned his attention to Dumbledore's office where the Headmaster was pacing backwards and forwards, but it was Malfoy's name that intrigued Harry the most. It was well after hours, but according to the map, Malfoy was making his way to the seventh floor. Harry meant to keep watch to see where he went, but the potion was doing its job, and Harry could no longer fight against the pull of sleep.


	26. Chapter 25 - A Feather In A Stream

"_Harry." The voice whispered to him from the far corner of a darkened room. Harry heard a hiss too, and the soft fall of footsteps on what sounded like a wooden floor. "Harry."_

Harry woke with a start and looked around frantically, but the only other person in the room was Ron, sitting up in his bed looking concerned.

"You alright mate?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine. Bad dream. Sorry."

Ron looked uncertain, he knew Harry was taking dreamless sleep potions, but he eventually shrugged and settled back down to sleep. Harry waited until he heard Ron start to snore again before putting on his glasses and getting out the Marauders Map. The only two dots in the dormitory were his and Ron's.

* * *

"Harry!" Hermione grabbed his wrist. "That's sugar you're about to put on your beans."

"Oh. Right. Thanks."

Harry placed the spoon back in the sugar pot, which huffed at him and scuttled off down the table in search of somewhere it could be of more use.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah."

"Ron says you woke up in the night."

Harry looked sideways at Ron who was staring determinedly at his bacon.

"Yeah, I had a dream. It was only once though."

"And did… did your scar hurt?"

Harry almost said yes automatically but stopped himself. He couldn't remember the last time his scar had hurt him. It used to be such a regular occurrence, but he'd almost forgotten the feeling.

"No. It doesn't really hurt anymore."

"Oh," said Hermione brightly, "That's good."

"Yeah."

Was it good? Harry certainly didn't miss the pain. But things were so much simpler back then. The pain was a constant reminder to Harry that the cause of it was no friend to him, it served as a warning that this man was his enemy, that he should get away. Now it didn't. Did that mean it only hurt if Harry thought of Voldemort as an enemy? Or had it stopped because he was no longer a threat?

Harry was still trying to think of a way to communicate with Voldemort without Dumbledore knowing, and without putting himself in danger, but he could not think of a single way. Even if he could, what would he write? That he missed him? That he hated him? That he wished none of this had happened? But it had happened, and he did both miss and hate Voldemort for it.

"Dumbledore's not here again," said Ron looking up at the almost deserted staff table. "Neither's Hagrid."

Hagrid. A soothing rush of warm familiarity flooded through Harry at the sound of his name. There were so many wonderful aspects of his old life that he'd simply forgotten about.

"How is he?"

"Oh fine. He wasn't here at the start of term though, not for weeks, and he won't tell us why."

"Let's go and see him."

Ron and Hermione both looked surprised.

"Harry, I don't know… I mean, are you sure?"

"Why not?"

It was decided that they'd go at lunchtime, after much insistence from Hermione that they revise potions together first.

Walking out into the grounds felt strange. Harry couldn't understand how it was possible to feel so suffocated in such a vast expanse of space. He noted with slight concern that his first instinct when he got outside was still to look for an escape route. He wondered how long it would take for that habit to fade. The fresh air was welcome however, and the smell of fresh baking emanating from Hagrid's hut even more so. Harry swayed slightly on the steps leading down to the hut. His vision blurred and he thought he heard someone whisper his name. But he shook his head and everything seemed normal again. Perhaps it was just the potions making him feel tired.

The door swung open almost immediately when Hermione knocked.

"Harry."

Almost knocking Ron and Hermione over, Hagrid strode forward towards Harry, who felt himself being swept off his feet before he could manage a hello. He was grasped against a musty smelling overcoat and had his breath immediately squashed out of his chest by Hagrid's tree-trunk-sized arms.

"I wondered when you'd come and see me."

"I'm sorry Hagrid, I just…"

"No, no, don't min' me, y'only just got back after all. Come in all o' you, I just finished making scones."

They all sat around the table in Hagrid's kitchen happily munching scones and idly chatting awhile before Harry brought up Hagrid's absence. Hagrid sighed heavily and leant back in his chair.

"I knew you'd ask me about that. These two been buggin' me about it an' all. Alright," he began, tossing Fang a scone, "Dumdledore sent me to go see the giants."

Hermione gasped and Ron's eyebrows shot up into his hair.

"To do what?" Harry pushed.

"To try and convince 'em not to side with You-Know-Who."

"Well? Did you?"

"Well, its not as simple as that, is it? Bit temperamental giants, you see. Had to take gifts and that you know."

"You just walked up to them? Didn't they try and kill you as soon as they saw you."

"Nah, some of 'em wanted to o' course. But Dumbledore told us what to do, just hold the gift high and give it to the Gurg."

"The what?" asked Ron.

"Oh, the Gurg jus' means the chief. Anyway it all seemed to be going well with him, Karkus he was called."

"But?"

"He was killed," Hagrid replied darkly.

"What?" Exclaimed Harry, "By who?"

"Another giant. They fight all the time see, and this time Karkus lost. Well, it wasn't ideal. We weren't counting on having to deal with another giant. And the next one weren't so keen on us."

Harry, Ron and Hermione listened wide-eyed as Hagrid recounted his story.

"So there are no giants on our side then?"

"No."

A dark silence filled the room. Harry couldn't stand talking as if they were in a war. He couldn't believe Voldemort was capable of wilfully harming him, he'd told Harry he'd changed. And he had. Harry knew he had, but not for the right reasons.

'_It doe_s_n't matter why… Harry… Harry come back…. Come back to me.' Harry saw Voldemort, a pained expression on his face… saw him standing alone next to the river outside the house… 'Come back, Harry."_

"Harry!" It was Hermione's voice now. "Harry! Harry are you alright?"

Harry opened his eyes. Hermione and Ron were crouched over him. He had somehow fallen from his chair without realising, but now he could feel a dull pain in his head where it must have hit the floor.

"What happened?"

"You just sort of keeled over, mate," said Ron, looking concerned.

"Right. Uh." He sat up.

"Ye probably jus' fell asleep for a moment is all 'arry," said Hagrid in a fakely cheery voice.

"Yeah."

"Anyhow, you bes' be goin' now. I got flesh-eating slug repellant to put down and I know you lot will 'ave some studyin' to do."

"Right, yeah, lots. Let's go."

Embarrassed, Harry got up and collected his cloak from his chair. He wished Ron and Hermione would stop looking at him like that.

'_Harry…'_

Voldemort's voice in Harry's head was as real as if it had been whispered right next to his ear. Perhaps he was going mad after all. He needed to be alone.

They thanked Hagrid for the scones and set off back towards the castle in awkward silence. When they arrived back at the common room Harry announced he was going to rest, and hurried up the stairs to the boys' dormitory before Ron or Hermione could say anything in response.

Why was this happening to him? Was it his guilt torturing him? Was he crazy? Or was Voldemort managing to somehow talk to him?

He laid down on his bed and pulled his cloak from Voldemort up over himself for warmth. It smelt of the house, of Voldemort. Did either people notice? Harry didn't care, it was his primary way of remembering, and he deserved to remember, he deserved to hurt.

_He slithered along the corridor towards Voldemort's darkened bedroom. He hissed and the door slowly creaked open to allow him through. His master was lying on the floor with Harry's book on quidditch beside him. Voldemort had his eyes closed but Harry knew he was awake. He whispered soothingly to him in Parseltongue. _

"_Master, master, get up."_

"_I cannot Nagini. It's too heavy." His voice sounded strained as if he was struggling to hold something, and tired from the effort of trying. He gestured towards the middle of his torso where all his emotions were churning away, alongside the permanent sinking feeling he'd had in his chest since Harry had left. _

"_It's too heavy Nagini, it's a sickness. I'm not supposed to feel like this. I can't feel like this."_

"_It'll go away Master, come."_

"_No, no it'll never go away."_

_Harry…_

Harry sat bolt upright on his bed and looked around the room wildly. The only person there was Ron, standing in the doorway looking very awkward and avoiding Harry's eyes.

"You alright?"

"Yeah, fine," said Harry, a little more aggressively than he'd meant to.

"We're just going down to dinner, do you…?

Harry shook his head.

"No, thanks. I'm good."

"Ok." Ron left quickly down the stairs.

He knew his friends would worry that he was spending so much time alone, but they couldn't understand how hard it was to be around them. He didn't know how he was ever going to be able to tell them what had happened, and that was a constant barrier between them, stopping them from feeling as truly close as they used to. But there was no way they'd understand. They might be disgusted with him, they might feel betrayed. Harry himself didn't know how to feel about it all yet, so how could they possibly understand it? What if they asked if he was glad to be back, or if he regretted what had happened? He wouldn't know what to say. Harry momentarily wished he'd never left. That was happening more and more frequently. But he couldn't go back there, there was nothing for him with Voldemort except pain. It was important to remind himself of that. Neither of them properly had feelings for one another. They were symptoms, nothing more than Harry's mind playing tricks on him, and Voldemort's body doing the same to him. With time, perhaps those feelings would fade. Could it ever really be as if they'd never existed though? Would they be able to go back to fighting eachother like everyone expected them to? Harry couldn't imagine Voldemort fading away into the abyss, never to be heard of again, it would go against everything he'd always wanted, needed, to be known, and to be feared. But the Voldemort that had made love to Harry, he wouldn't hurt him, Harry was certain of that.

Some say love is a burning thing

That it makes a fiery ring

Oh but I know love as a fading thing

Just as fickle as a feather in a stream

See, honey, I saw love,

You see it came to me

It puts its face up to my face so I could see

Yeah then I saw love disfigure me

Into something I am not recognizing

See the cage, it called. I said, come on in.

I will not open myself up this way again

- Phosphorescent


	27. Chapter 26 - Nine While Nine

**Hi all, haven't had many reviews lately, please let me know whether or not you're still enjoying this story, it really means a lot. I'm grateful to you all for taking the time to read and comment on my writing. I hope you enjoy this chapter. **

**Nine While Nine**

"**In the days when I was stronger**

**In the days when you were here, **

**When days had no beginning**

**While days had no end,**

**When shadows grew no longer **

**I knew no other friend,**

**but you were wild"**

* * *

After another night of interrupted sleep, Harry woke to see the glowing winter light that comes with snow sneaking in through a gap in the curtains. Ron was still snoring loudly in the bed across from Harry's, and Harry could tell it was late morning. He padded softly over to the window and pulled back the curtain. The air was a flurry of delicate flakes of white, and Harry could just about see through them enough to see that the grounds were already covered in a thick blanket of snow. With some difficulty, he squeezed himself onto the windowsill where he used to sit in his first year whenever he felt overwhelmed. With his knees almost bent up to his ears, he sat and looked out of the window. In first year, he had been overwhelmed so easily by this new world that was both exciting and terrifying. But now it was real life that made Harry's head spin, everyday tasks that felt terrifying, and those that had previously helped him through everything that he most wanted to avoid.

It hadn't snowed once while Harry had been away, it wasn't something that he and Voldemort had experienced together. He hated the idea that there were things they'd never get to do, never get to talk about. But what had he expected? That they'd stay together forever? It was hardly a feasible idea. Maybe some small part of him had been hoping for that. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to indulge in the bittersweet memories he was tired of fighting off. He remembered how Voldemort had held him the night he'd had flashbacks, the first time he'd tried to kiss the man, and how amazing it had felt when he started to respond, their many arguments and even the time Voldemort had crucioed him. So many emotions. And yet he was used to emotions, Voldemort wasn't. Again Harry found himself wishing he knew if the man was ok. If what he was seeing in these dreams was real, then he needed help, but there was no one to give it, no one other than Harry who'd be willing to.

* * *

That day there was a trip to Hogsmeade, which Harry had been relieved to discover after the word 'presents' had been mentioned, and it occurred to him that both Ron and Hermione would have got him something. With only a couple of days left to go until Christmas, Harry appreciated the distraction of thinking about what to buy each of his friends.

"Harry, must you bring that with you to every meal?"

"I want to know what Malfoy's up to. There are hours at a time where he's not on the map."

Ron and Hermione sighed. Harry knew they thought he was being paranoid. But couldn't they see that something must be up? Even if they did they couldn't understand Harry's main interest in the matter: Malfoy was leaving the grounds almost every day and no one knew, that meant Harry could too.

"Is there anything in particular you want to do in Hogsmeade Harry?"

Harry put the map away and tried instead to engage in the conversation Hermione was desperately trying to have with him.

"Definitely go to Honeydukes. And I need to buy my textbooks too, and some ingredients for potions." Dumbledore had advised Harry that he would need to use this trip to buy everything he would have bought in September at Diagon Alley, as he'd need them once classes resumed after the holidays

"We wondered as well Harry," Hermione began tentatively, "if, while we're there, you wanted to go to Sirius' grave."

It felt like a small knife had been sharply thrust into Harry's chest, and was now being twisted to and fro.

"Oh."

What kind of person was he? He'd spent more time worrying about the welfare of his Godfather's murderer than he had mourning for his Godfather. It hadn't even occurred to Harry to ask about the funeral or where Sirius had been buried.

"We obviously couldn't have a public burial. So Dumbledore suggested burying him in the cave where he was in hiding last year." She sounded almost apologetic at having to remind Harry of his death. But he should be made to remember, every second, how he let his guard down, and let his Godfather's murderer into his heart.

'_Harry…'_

Harry turned his head sharply in the direction of the voice. Hermione saw this, and looked deeply concerned. Before she could comment however, a young Ravenclaw came over to them.

"Harry Potter?"

"Yes?"

"Professor Dumbledore asked me to give you this."

The small piece of parchment in Harry's hand invited him to go to Dumbledore's office that evening at 8 o'clock.

"I'm sure he just wants to see how you're settling in Harry," Hermione assured him. "I'm surprised he didn't ask to see you earlier actually."

"Well it sounds like he's hardly been here." Harry chose this part of Hermione's comment to focus on.

"He did mention just before you came back that he'd be travelling over the holidays."

"Bit unusual isn't it?" said Ron, "I mean, he's never done that before."

"Yeah. Unusual."

Why would Dumbledore be travelling this holiday? Harry was certain it wouldn't be for leisure. Was he avoiding Harry? Harry was sure Dumbledore had a better idea than anyone what kind of thing had gone on with him in his absence. Although immensely grateful that Dumbledore wasn't pressuring him to discuss the events of the past few months, Harry found it surprising that the Headmaster seemed to have gone out of his way to be absent from the castle as soon as Harry returned. It then occurred to him that seeing as his headmaster was not at Hogwarts looking out for him, the most likely alternative was that he was out of the castle actively seeking out Voldemort. This sparked a flare of panic in Harry's chest. Would Dumbledore, knowing of Harry's affection for Voldemort, and the care the older wizard had provided for him, still actively seek to kill him? While Dumbledore seemed to have always had Harry's best interests at heart, that had always previously been when they had coincided with his own ambition to destroy Lord Voldemort. Perhaps, now that such things were not so clear, he would keep his plans secret from Harry and do what must be done in Harry's place? Harry both hoped it was true and prayed it was not at the same time. He could not imagine trying to process the news that Voldemort had been killed, but at the same time wished his own confusion could be unraveled by the actions of someone other than himself.

Just then a post owl swooped down over Harry's head and landed next to Hermione's bowl of porridge. It was carrying the Daily Prophet. Hermione paid the owl and unraveled the paper. Although she tried to conceal it, Harry immediately caught the momentary expression of shock on her face.

"What is it?"

Hermione clearly decided there was no point trying to hide whatever it was from Harry and passed over the paper.

_DEATH EATERS RAID DEPARTMENT OF MYSTERIES_

Death Eaters…. But that would mean…

"It happened last night. They're not sure yet if anything was taken or not."

"What's in the Department of Mysteries?" asked Harry, handing the paper back to Hermione; he couldn't bring himself to read the article.

"Well, no one really knows do they?" said Ron, "I mean, that's sort of the point isn't it?"

"Well, we know someone who knew what was in there. Listen to this, '_Ministry Officials believe the break in was aided by ex-ministry worker and convicted Death Eater, Augustus Rookwood.' _Rookwood was one of the Death Eaters who was broken out of Azkaban recently. I bet this is why."

Had Voldemort been planning this all along? Had he lain awake after making love to Harry and plotted all this?

"How many died?"

"Three aurors, and another 4 in St Mungo's."

Harry couldn't listen anymore. He took out some of the History of Magic notes Hermione had given him and tried to feign interest in her angle on the goblin rebellions of 1894.

_Harry…. Harry… Come home… I need you here_

Harry tried shook his head, trying to make the voice go away.

"Harry. Maybe when you see Dumbledore you should tell him about your… your dreams."

So Ron had told her. He knew he shouldn't be angry, but he could feel it swelling up inside him despite himself. He knew he would snap if he stayed, so he stood and left the table.

He'd been a fool to think he could just slot back into his old life. He wasn't ready for this. How was he supposed to focus on memorising dates when his old lover was setting out to take over the world? How was he supposed to be with his friends when the main voice he could hear was in his head? And this was just the holidays, soon everyone would be back. The currently deserted halls would be full of students, loud bolshy people who would question him ceaselessly. And all his teachers, Snape and all his tormenting… He'd outgrown all of this hadn't he? The world around him felt so petty compared to the war raging around in his head, and he couldn't live in both.

* * *

He was busy examining the list of school supplies he'd need when Ron came in.

"You alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry."

"Hermione said she'd meet us in the common room in five minutes."

"Right. Ok."

They both rummaged around gathering all their winter clothes together in silence. Just as they were about to go downstairs, Ron turned to face Harry.

"Listen mate, I'm glad you're back."

"Me too."

"Hermione's just worried you know."

"Yeah I know."

"We both were, she even gave an essay in late while you were gone."

Harry laughed.

"Must have been serious."

"I thought Flitwick was gonna faint when she told him. Should have seen him, nearly toppled off his pile of books in shock!"

"Wish I could have seen that."

They descended the stairs laughing and Hermione greeted them with a huge smile at the bottom.

"Ready?"

"Yep."

They walked briskly along the path into the picturesque village, huddled against the whirling snow. They agreed through shouted words on the wind to stop off at The Three Broomsticks for some Butterbeer. Harry and Ron both groaned when, as soon as they sat down, Hermione pulled out her revision notes.

"Hermione it's the holidays."

"I know it is Ron, but the first part of out transfiguration exam is in less than a month, and there's so much to learn."

They sat and sipped their Butterbeers, while listening to Hermione trying to explain for the hundredth time why untransfiguration was a completely different skill from transformation, before reluctantly leaving the table to face the cold once more.

* * *

Having reunited after their separate present searches, they made their way slowly along the path that lead to the cave where Sirius was buried. When they reached their destination, Hermione reached for Ron's arm, signaling to him to hang back while Harry entered the cave alone.

Rounding the corner into the cave, Harry half expected to see Sirius still there, hungrily devouring chicken drumsticks, and surrounded by copies of the Daily Prophet he'd stolen from the village in his dog form. But all that greeted him was a small headstone, no bigger than a football. He crouched before it, dazed, and read the enchanted gold letters upon the stone:

'_Sirius – Friend, Godfather, Protector_

_Illustrent stellae via tuus'_

Tears sprung, unbidden, to Harry's eyes. It didn't feel real, how could it be that Sirius Black, who'd had so much passion and energy, could be lying cold and lifeless in the ground on which Harry was kneeling? Voldemort had done this; not directly, but it was because of him that Sirius was dead. Harry wanted him dead in that moment.

He and Sirius were supposed to live together one day, he was the nearest thing to family that Harry had had, and now he was gone too. He was like a poison, all those nearest to him ended up dead, or changed, or miserable.

"I'm so sorry." He choked out; but it felt so inadequate.

"Hermione," he called out.

He felt his friend's presence at the entrance to the cave. He took off the cloak Voldemort had bought for him and laid it on the grave.

"What was that spell, in transfiguration, for flowers?"

"Fioflores," she replied gently.

Shivering now without his cloak on, Harry shakily removed his wand from his jeans pocket and pointed it at the cloak.

"Here," said Hermione, crouching down beside him and taking his hand in hers to steady his wand. Harry wanted to say the spell but grief overwhelmed him and he leant into Hermione's shoulder and cried. He felt Hermione gently move his hand and whisper the incantation. She hugged him tightly until he ran out of tears, and then she helped him up and they left the cave, where a wreath of purple hyacinth flowers now rested against the headstone of Sirius Black's grave.

* * *

"**I've lost all sense of the world outside **

**But I can't forget so I call your name **

**And I'm looking for a life for me **

**And I'm looking for a life for you **

**And I'm talking to myself again"**

**And it's so damn cold it's just not true **

**And I'm walking through the rain **

**Trying to hold on"**

**-The Sisters of Mercy**

**Please excuse my shaky Latin, it's been a while.**

**Please review**

**xx**


	28. Chapter 27 - The Hand of the Other

THE HAND OF THE OTHER

Harry's hand had barely touched the brass griffin door-knocker when the large oak door swung open to admit him entrance.

"Good evening Harry."

"You knew I was there Professor."

"Actually, I didn't. I merely trusted that you would not be late." He gestured towards a most peculiar looking clock on the far wall of the office which had evidently just reached eight O'clock and was now spinning frantically on its hook. After eight incredibly loud seconds, Dumbledore invited Harry to take a seat.

"So Harry, how is the revision going?"

"Oh, um..." It wasn't the question he'd been expecting. "Yeah, fine, good."

"Glad to hear it, I had no doubt that Miss Granger would get you up to scratch in no time."

Harry smiled. "She hasn't stopped since I came back, Sir."

Dumbledore chuckled. "No I'm sure she hasn't. Well, you have a lot of missed time to make up for."

"Yeah."

They were interrupted by the sound of a rather ill-looking bird landing clumsily on Dumbledore's desk.

"Ah, Harry, I trust you remember Fawkes, close to burning day I'm afraid."

Harry reached out a hand to stroke Fawkes' head and smiled when he leant his tousled head into Harry's touch.

"And I'm afraid I must ask, Harry, how you're getting on generally. Hospital orders, or Miriam will have my head. Are you settling in well? Feeling ok?"

"Yes," Harry lied, continuing to stroke Fawkes to avoid looking at Dumbledore.

"It's… It's strange, but it's ok."

"Which bits are the most strange?"

"I don't know. Maybe, maybe seeing Ron and Hermione. I mean, they're great, but it's just… odd."

"I'm guessing you have not told them much about your time away?"

Harry frowned. Dumbledore made it sound as if Harry had simply been on holiday.

"Nothing at all."

"I see." There was a long pause in which Harry wished it was _his _burning day too, and that at any moment he would be swallowed up by a great burst of flames.

"Perhaps you think they wouldn't understand?"

"I don't know how they could, even I…" Harry's speech trailed off, he didn't want to be having this kind of conversation with his Headmaster, or with anyone else for that matter.

"Well Harry, I must admit that there are many people who could not begin to comprehend what you have been through. However," He looked at Harry meaningfully, "There are some Harry, who could understand, and who would want to help you."

"No, there aren't," Harry replied coldly, "There really aren't."

"I can understand that you might not want to accept help from your headmaster, Harry, but…"

"I don't need any help!" Harry snapped. "I just need to be left alone."

"I must confess Harry, I really believe that being alone at this time would be the worst thing you could do."

"How would you know?" said Harry angrily. "You might think you know all about what happened but you don't, you have no idea! And I was alone through all of it! So how can you possibly expect me to deal with it any other way?"

"Your friends have suffered a great deal in your absence Harry, it might calm them to know."

White-hot anger leapt inside him. It seemed that Dumbledore wanted Harry to feel guilty about what had happened. He shook his head angrily, rising from his chair. "You want me to feel guilty about this? Like it was a choice I made? This was something that _happened _to me, this is not something I _did. _I'm sorry if you were all worried, but I do not have enough space in my head right now to feel guilty about that, I don't have enough guilt left."

"Has it occurred to you Harry, that you might be wasting your guilt on the wrong person?"

"SHUT UP!" How dare Dumbledore say that to him, like he knew what Harry was thinking, like Harry was neglecting his friends.

"You want to convince me you understand and then you say… I'm leaving." He strode over to the door, grasped the doorknob and wrenched it hard. But it would not open. Panic coursed through him, he could not stand to be trapped after…

"Let me out," said Harry dangerously.

"Please sit down Harry."

"Open this door."

"No Harry, not until you hear what I have to say."

"I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU'VE GOT TO SAY, YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND WHAT…"

"YES. I. DO." Said Dumbledore, his voice like thunder. Harry was taken aback, he'd never seen Dumbledore lose control like that. "Now, please, sit down."

Still fuming, Harry reluctantly made his way back to his chair.

"Fine. Tell me about all the suffering everyone else went through while _I_ was kidnapped."

"I apologise Harry. It was not my intention to make you feel any guilt. But it is very easy to isolate yourself at times like this. And forgive me for saying this but I speak from experience when I say that even the best of friends will not wait around forever. You're in pain, but that only proves that you are still the same man you were, Harry. And your friends will not care for you any less. This pain only proves that you are human."

"Then I don't want to be human," Harry retorted, aware that he was sounding more and more like a petulant child. "I don't want to feel pain, and I want to stop causing it."

"Then ease it, confide in your friends. You'll all suffer less for it."

Harry said nothing. Perhaps he owed it to Ron and Hermione to give them more of an idea of what happened to him. Maybe knocking down that barrier between them would make him feel more grounded again.

"It doesn't have to be right away. You could perhaps just tell them that you will let them know, at some point."

"Yeah, maybe."

"And now I'm afraid, before you go, there is another matter that we must discuss." Dumbledore looked at Harry apologetically. "I do not wish to burden you further Harry, but sometimes answers are a slightly smaller burden than questions. I'm sure it has not escaped your attention that there was a raid on the Ministry of Magic last night."

Harry merely nodded. "I believe the purpose of this raid was to retrieve a prophecy, about you and Voldemort."

"He told me about it." The 'because you never did' was not said, but Harry knew Dumbledore heard it. "I had hoped you would not find out about it until you were older Harry, I wanted to protect you, I told myself you were too young to know." He sighed deeply. "As I'm sure you have figured out, this prophecy is the reason Voldemort tried to kill you all those years ago. At that time, his knowledge of the prophecy was incomplete."

"What do you mean?"

"Voldemort only knew some of what was said, the full reading is as follows." He took a deep breath.

"_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies ..._" Dumbledore looked as though speaking each word had caused him tremendous pain.

"Neither can live while the other survives, but that means…"

Harry knew he could never do it.

"Yes." Dumbledore's voice was barely a whisper. "I'm sorry Harry."

"But it doesn't say my name anywhere, there must be others, maybe it's not me."

Dumbledore looked at him as though not sure he should say what he was about to say.

"The Prophecy could have referred to two people. One is you, and the other is Neville Longbottom."

"So it might not be me? It could be Neville, it could mean Neville has to…"

Dumbledore was shaking his head sadly. "I'm afraid that there is no doubt that it _is _you." Harry was shaking, how could Dumbledore not have told him this? Perhaps if he had known he would never have allowed himself to get close to Voldemort. Now being enemies seemed inconceivable. Harry couldn't hurt him any more than he already had.

"But…"

"You're forgetting the middle part of the prophecy Harry, "_the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal". _In choosing to try to kill you rather than Mr Longbottom, Voldemort marked _you _as his equal. In trying to prevent the prophecy from coming true, Voldemort himself gave you _the power the Dark Lord knows not."_

"How much did he hear?"

"Only the part foretelling of the birth of the one who could vanquish him, born in July to parents who had thrice defied him. Had he heard the rest…"

So Voldemort hadn't known that one of them would have to kill the other, perhaps he, like Harry, was under the impression that they could have coexisted happily together. But fate had other ideas. Harry wanted to claw out his heart at that moment. He could never hurt Voldemort, but perhaps if the other man knew, his conviction would not be as strong. What if they both refused to fight eachother?

"And does he know now?"

"No. The only people who can retrieve a prophecy from the Department of Mysteries are those about whom it was made, in this case, only you and Voldemort."

"So how do you know about it, Sir?"

"I was there when it was made."

"Made?"

"By Sybil Trelawney in a room above the bar of the Hog's Head. I had gone to interview her for the post of divination teacher. I was turning to leave when she made the prophecy."

"So how did Voldemort know about it?"

"We were overheard. Luckily the eavesdropper was caught only one sentence in and removed from the building. Unfortunately, he relayed the information straight back to his master."

"Who was it?"

"It is of no consequence Harry. This all happened sixteen years ago, and I think I have given you rather enough of the now to think about for one night."

Harry nodded. His head hurt from all the thoughts frantically whirring around in it. But he knew the enormity of this information had yet to sink in fully, he was still in shock for now, but at some point in the near future he would collapse from the pain of it.

"I am sorry Harry, to have to tell you all this, but you have suffered enough already from my fear of burdening you. I rather thought you deserved some answers." Dumbledore's eyes were glistening and Harry looked away awkwardly. He rose to leave, sensing that he was now allowed to do so, when he remembered something else.

"Professor, what happened to your hand?"

"It is a thrilling tale Harry, but now is not the time to tell it."

"Does it have something to do with why you've been away from school?"

"It does. Goodnight Harry."

* * *

The remaining days leading up to Christmas passed in a blur for Harry. He kept himself distracted from everything by diving head first into his schoolwork, pleasing Hermione greatly and frustrating Ron more so. He'd never studied so hard before, and felt a weird sense of pride when he showed Hermione his successful vanishing spell.

"Well done Harry! That's one of the hardest things we have to learn! Now you've got that everything else should be a breeze!"

"I just practiced what you showed me." She beamed at him and Ron went and sulked in the dormitory until Harry tempted him out with Mince Pies.

The voices and visions seemed to have almost completely disappeared, their only remainder being that sense of having had a bad dream when Harry woke each morning, but he remembered nothing. He began to believe he could escape the crash that had threatened to come since that night in Dumbledore's office.

* * *

"Harry! Ron! Wake up both of you!"

"What the bloody hell are you doing in here?"

"Come on! It's Christmas!"

Hermione was walking briskly around the boys' dormitory opening all the curtains and letting in the milky winter sunlight. A small pile of presents had appeared at the foot of Harry's bed at some point in the night, igniting a small amount of childish excitement in Harry's chest. Ron had evidently noticed his own, significantly larger, pile of presents too, as he was already sitting up in bed and reaching for the first one to open. Hermione had brought hers up too so they could open them all together.

"You both have to open yours from me at the same time," said Hermione. They dutifully did so and found themselves the proud new owners of talking homework planners.

"Thanks a lot Hermione," said Ron grumpily, "you even have to remind us about schoolwork on _Christmas Day." _

"Don't be silly Ron. Even I'm not doing any work today. But they really are very helpful."

Harry also got a large box of Every Flavour Beans from Ron, a maroon jumper from Mrs Weasley and a big book on dragons from Hagrid. Even the Dursleys outdid themselves, sending Harry their best gift yet, a Mars bar.

"Ohh, what's that Harry?" Harry laughed seeing Ron's intrigued expression and tossed the chocolate bar over to him.

"Chocolate. From the Dursleys. You have it."

Hermione thanked Harry a little too much for the colour-changing scarf and hat set he'd given her, but he appreciated it all the same, and Ron had seemed genuinely pleased with his broom compass.

"This tastes alright," said Ron, halfway through the Mars bar, sounding pleasantly surprised. "Shame it doesn't really _do _anything though."

"Harry you missed one."

"What?"

"Here." Hermione tossed him a small, pristinely wrapped gift that must have fallen from the bed. But who else would have gotten Harry a gift?

"It can't be for me." But as Harry turned it over he saw his name written in a familiar hand on the silver paper. Ron and Hermione watched silently as Harry opened it, sensing his feeling of foreboding. Inside the paper was a small black box.

"Who's it from Harry?" Harry said nothing and opened the box. Gleaming up at him from inside was the small gold ring he'd found in amongst Voldemort's private possessions. The two small, engraved lions fastened a glistening ruby to the centre of the gold band. For a moment he just stared at it. And then, to his horror, tears started to form in his eyes, and before he knew it Hermione was sat beside him, hugging him tight.

"Is it from him Harry?"

Harry nodded as he sobbed into her shoulder. Hermione took off Harry's glasses and transformed the pile of wrapping paper into a large box of tissues.

"Ron, why don't you get Harry some water?"

Harry was so grateful to Hermione in that moment. It was one thing showing so much weakness in front of her…

Ron obviously got the message, and didn't return with the water until Harry had calmed down some time later.

"Harry," said Hermione seriously, "Do you know how this got here?"

Harry shook his head. Hermione and Ron exchanged nervous glances.

"I really think we ought to tell Professor Dumbledore about this." Harry knew she was right.

"Let's go now then. We've got enough time before breakfast." They washed and dressed quickly and made their way to the Headmaster's office. Hermione and Ron stopped by the Gargoyle.

"Do you want us to wait here Harry?"

"Ok."

Exceedingly nervous, Harry uttered the password and stepped onto the spiraling staircase.

"Come in," called a cheery voice from inside when Harry knocked. He stepped into the office and saw Dumbledore sitting behind his desk in his best plum-coloured robes stroking a now beautiful Fawkes.

"Good morning Professor."

"Good morning Harry. And Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas."

"What can I help you with?"

"I, errr, received a gift today sir, from…" he swallowed, "from Voldemort."

Dumbledore looked momentarily alarmed before covering his face with a more calm, but still concerned, expression.

"I see, and what was this gift Harry."

Harry walked forward and placed the box on the Headmaster's desk. He stepped back and watched Dumbledore's face carefully. He saw the flicker of recognition in the man's eyes, and then the sorrow, and then the pity.

"What is it? Is it dangerous?"

"I don't believe so Harry, not physically."

"But what is it?"

"Will you allow an old man a small mercy Harry? Will you allow me to show you what this is, rather than tell you?" His headmaster's face looked so pained that Harry nodded. Dumbledore summoned the pensieve to his desk and pulled a long silvery strand from his temple with his wand. After a small nod from Dumbledore, Harry plunged in.

He was sitting next to Dumbledore at what appeared to be a wedding. The memory was obviously patchy, and jumped around a lot, but Harry soon recognised his surroundings from a picture in the photo album Hagrid had once given him. He was at his parents' wedding. The memory flickered a great deal and Harry couldn't see much, but he managed to see his father slide a small gold and red ring onto his mother's hand before he dragged himself out of the memory.

"Oh." It was all he could say. Voldemort had given Harry his parents' wedding ring. Why?

"Professor, I've seen this ring before. Voldemort had it in a box, with some other things, in his house."

Dumbledore nodded.

"Voldemort, Harry, has some magpie-like tendencies. He gives great importance to trinkets that have some meaning to him, such as heirlooms, or…"

"Or prizes," Harry interrupted bitterly, "this is a trophy isn't it? He kept it when he…"

"Most probably Harry, yes." All Harry could feel was disgust. Was this Voldemort's idea of a romantic gesture? It was sick, Harry almost wanted to throw the thing away, to cast it out into the Great Lake and never see it again. It was only the memory of his smiling parents that kept him from doing so.

"I'm sure he meant…"

"Don't." Said Harry. "It doesn't matter what he meant."

"I see no reason why it would be unsafe for you to keep it if you wish."

"I will, but only because it belongs to me, my family, not because of him."

"I'm sure your parents would be glad it was in your possession Harry."

Harry was sure his parents would want nothing to do with him after what he'd done, but he didn't say anything.

"Do you know how Voldemort got this to you Harry?"

"No sir, it was in my room this morning."

"Ok Harry, I will look into it. Go down to breakfast, you look like you could use some. But don't indulge too much Harry. I believe the house elves have prepared a wonderful Christmas dinner." Dumbledore smiled weakly.

Harry took back the box containing the ring and slipped it into the pocket of his robes.

"Thank you Professor." And then he left the office.


End file.
